Left in Pages
by ojstm
Summary: VERSION 2.0 The brotherhood of the Airborne. In the eyes of Robert Lee Turner. Retold. REVAMPED AND STORY COMPLETED
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer: **This is the revised introduction page. Some of the chapters of this story had only some minor tweaks while retaining their titles; the rest is a product of the revamp I made. Hope you like them. If anybody gives a damn why I didn't finish this fic; simply because that I had a lot things to worry about; like college.

**Note:** The characters and events portrayed here (which by the way are MINE!) are entirely fictitious. Well, actually I based them on real peoples and real events and I just changed them. Any similarity of character, background and/or name is coincidental and unintentional.

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**INTRODUCTION**

I was a soldier…

Even if just once, still I used to be one. Something that people today would be proud to say to the rest of the world. Especially during my time. Yes. I was proud. And I still am. Proud to have been the carrier of everyone's hopes and prayers. Into battlefields I marched on with my compatriots and friends; even though I knew I was going to fight a hated enemy of my country and not of myself. It was to serve my country; a call not everyone would take. There was no reason for me not to be proud of that.

Yes, I am a soldier. A symbol of strength, ferocity and valiancy. Though in the history books my name will never be mentioned, there is one place where I, like the others, was left in pages. It was in our hearts where our memories were open 24/7 for us to cherish. In that way, we cherish each other. In that way, we cherish what we fought for during the hell of 1944.

What did we fight for anyway?

We signed up and joined in a distant struggle so that we can make our families proud. We volunteered ourselves so as we can make our country proud. Proud. But was it for pride that we risked our youths for? Were we just looking for a change in our lives so that we can hope to be honoured forever by the generations ahead? That we can be models for the future peoples?

Well yes.

It was the youthful idealism that the young men of the Allied Expeditionary Forces fuelled us for it. For we believed that we can make a difference. We believed that our brothers who have fallen at Pearl Harbour must be avenged. We believed in justice. And it was the only thing that we saw that was lacking in the bloody months of 1944. Justice. The fairness which people should be treated.

But if you ask me; once we all stepped down from that ramp slowly lowering down in the beaches, once we all took that jump a thousand miles right up from the sky, once we opened the hatches to see or take a glimpse of the outside, it was all different.

Many of us realized that it was too late. They never thought that they signed up for this. They never thought that they skipped college for what they were forced to face. They weren't prepared to face it.

Reality.

And what's to be scared of in reality you ask? Simply that a soldier is killed, shot at, burned, bombed, executed. A soldier must kill or be killed. That's the truth about the role model that we were hoping to be honoured for. That was the reality for the kind of people we want our families and our country to be proud of.

But like I said, it was too late. Nowhere to go but forward and either side. No way to turn back. A lot of young men died without knowing about the choices that were presented upon them.

Yet, a lot of us had chosen to hold on. When people came dying around us, still we hold on. When bullets zip past our heads and limbs, still we hold on. When bomb blasts ring our ears, still we hold on. But hold on what?

Of course: to each other.

I heard one man said that it is hard to explain about the human will to survive; especially if he's surrounded by family. I can concur to that. Yes. It was my fate to die in World War 2. It was also their destiny to die like many of the people who fought side by side with them. And yet, here I am.

Come to think of it, this is the reason why we were all left in pages. We survived. We fought to the death and yet we came home to tell the tale about it. We lived through the harsh reality of a soldier's life and yet we found ourselves having the lives of senators, writers, fathers, husbands.

But all of that is impossible without each other. No. We could have all perished if we didn't hold on. For we didn't care if they were strangers. We didn't care of they were Irish, Jews or Poles. What we care about is that they are our comrades. People who would never let us down. People who we should never let down.

They were soldiers…

Call them heroes or veterans; but I'd rather call them 'friends'. Because these were the men whom I shared 2 years of my life with. These were the men who were at my side until the end. These were the men whom I grown to call my family. Not a family I like to raise. But a family I like to raise hell with.

These were the men of the 101st Airborne…

My name is Robert Lee Turner, and with them, I was there…


	2. The Courage it took

**CHAPTER 1 **"The Courage it Took"

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June 6 1944 (D-Day), 3000 feet above Normandy, France; First Wave of Drops; 0007 hours

Able Company, 506th Parachute Regiment; 101st Airborne Division

* * *

I woke up flimsily from my short sleep. The last thing I thought I remembered was that I was still in Greenham, gearing up for tomorrow's big day: D-Day. All of us shouted for joy when we heard about our immediate deployment 2 months ago in an American lodging in Northern Ireland. Well, I could tell that everyone was as enthusiastic as I am back then. And tomorrow is now today, up here in the skies above a country we were told to recapture.

I rubbed my eyes trying to snap out from my drowsiness. The sound of the airplane's mechanical purr and of hundreds of C-47s rumbling the skies finally leaped me back to reality. I looked around; trying to see how is everyone. It was kind of weird. No talk. No chatting. No nothing. Everyone was just blindly staring at anything that could be worth their attention within the cramped space of this flying hog. But I can't blame them. Being one of the first Allied soldiers that will be deployed into France is quite exciting and uneasy for all of us.

Putting myself back into the depths of my brain, I shut back into darkness, silence. It was the one time I have left to focus myself into the dares of today; previously briefed to us by Captain Collins. The last time I thought about our mission was at the briefing room. Then I tried to forget about it, to let myself be carried away by the senseless thrill of it.

Our mission was pretty simple: once inserted we are to sweep Beuzeville-au-Plain: the right flank of Ste. Mere-Eglise, a village in Normandy. Then it's all up to us to hold until the boys from the beaches can link up with us. The 101st Airborne's landing sites are 5 miles away from Utah Beach, shrinking the duration we had to defend the village in case of counter-attack.

But this is all if everything goes smoothly. And the Captain stressed IF; we really don't know what'll happen once we're there. He ordered us to memorize every map, every photograph and every mission detail of all of the units of the 101st just in case the drops went awry. Yeah, easier said than done.

"Hey, don't sleep now, Rob." Clyde patted me in the back.

"Huh?"

"Saw you closing your eyes, man."

"What? No, no. I'm just thinking."

McCarran spoke up, "Since when did you have the time to even think?"

"Shut up."

I knew what he meant. Hugh referred to that incident in training back in Camp Toccoa in Georgia. I don't want to even think about it. Call it embarrassment or my sense of pride. I almost got dismissed from the unit because of it, or in Sergeant Donnelly's terms, RTU.

"Wake and shake it fellas. Say hello to France!" Captain Collins shouted out.

Some of us were half-asleep. The flight from England en route to Normandy was drowsy at best, or maybe because it was just the night. The Captain's voice was a reality check; the dozed others began to blink, waking up from a brief freedom from the task at hand. I looked at my watch, a Rolex my father gave to me at my 18th birthday. It was 1:08 AM, 8 minutes past since the start of this day; of D-Day.

The cabin was suddenly illuminated by a faint red light; it was bright enough to wake up O'Shea from his sleep. He's at my right; probably fell asleep while reading the Bible.

"David! Hey!" I shook his shoulder

"Huh? Wha…what?"

"Red light means get your ass up." Clyde commented

"I was just resting my eyes, Shanny."

I took a few seconds to tighten the numerous straps wrapping my body with a lot of bags. I quite forgot which bag contained which, the adrenaline was partly building up as it begins to blank my thoughts. Aside from the standard gear, I brought with me an insect repellent and my diary. And, I think I left my pen.

"Alright guys stand up!" the Captain ordered. It was almost time.

Here we go…

Standing by the opened door, he was ready to guide us on our way down. And it is WAY down from up here. The cabin door gave me a clearer view at the outside; clouds covering the moon and stars amidst the blanket of the cold night. Below was a great mantle of forests, fields and several houses. It was hard to tell though; the only clue of a house from this altitude was the lights.

"Hook up!"

Then we fastened our chords.

"Equipment check!"

I began to secure the fastenings of Clyde's gear. My fingers were trembling; I'm only a few seconds away from jumping out into enemy territory and putting my life in the hands of God.

"Sound off for equipment check!"

Everybody was setting up each other. Soon numbers began to be shouted out in the air. Wesson's voice was the first heard, and soon it came down to me.

I yelled out, "5, OK!" my voice partly waned. The count off continued.

Once everything was set, Captain Collins replied "Alright, get ready ladies!"

Then we were enveloped in a complete silence, amidst the noise of the rumbling of plane and by the hundred others outside. My hearing was filtered suddenly. I came to look at the red light beside the door. As if I only wanted to hear the sound of the ping of it changing to green. Green means jump. Anticipation beaded my face with sweat, an unwanted reaction that I wasn't expecting. I was completely overcome with fear and excitement at the same time. This is it; the moment of we've been training for. Yet it was a moment deafeningly quiet. So quiet…

I could faintly hear the murmurs of O'Shea, praying to the ever-distant God for our safety. I could tell that others were doing the same. The gusts of the wind outside became harder as finally we broke out of the cloud covers up here in the skies of Normandy.

The pale spark of a distant explosion forced me to turn my head and look outside. It was followed by low bang, like thunder from a distance. The Germans were beginning to fire at us. Soon the lights get brighter and brighter, bigger and bigger. The noise of those flak shells bursting in the air was followed by the bang of the winds being shaken. I thought it was alright to play it safe and stay calm. But then there came fire. Some of the planes got hit, as the ground threat began to worsen. Cover was of no use now. The enemy finally saw us coming. The biggest invasion in history was underway.

"O my God! It's getting rough up here." McCarran commented as the plane began to rock by anti-aircraft fire just missing us by inches. Close-calls like that frightened us every second; almost panicking.

"Calm down! We'll be hitting them hard soon! Just calm down!" the Captain bid us.

I saw one plane being blown to pieces; no one has even jumped out yet from this wave I assumed. Tracers began to fill the sky as I can clearly hear the sirens from below. Smoke and metal were being ripped as the enemy relentlessly continued their seemingly unending efforts to stop us. The light once lit red suddenly blinked green in the cabin; my heart began to beat faster.

Then the Captain shouted out, "Sticks in the wind!"

I was taking deep breaths, like a weary runner who just finished a mile sprint. Soon the explosions got closer and closer to us. It was getting really bad and it was time to jump out. I am the 6th to parachute out of the plane and into the vast uncertainty below. The moment of truth…

"Go! Go! Go!"

First was Crawford, then Gallagher, then Mantarro, then Ellis…

"Clyde! Your turn!" Captain Collins ordered.

He had the knack to smile in the face of danger, saying "See you below Rob!" And he leapt out. It was hard to believe that I was next. Concentrating was no use. I peered outside, my hands clinging at my straps. The last thing I'll do was to piss on my pants. I'm about to find out the courage it took for the krauts to pull this off in Crete. Shit…

"Turner! Your next! Go!"

The scene was chaos outside. This was my first taste of war. I closed my eyes as every second synchronized to my heart beat. Freefall into Hell it was, I jumped.

"Here goes nothing!"

The rush of the wind and some billows of smoke suddenly hastened past my face. My chute opened, catapulting me slightly upward as air caught up with it. That gave me the scare; as if somebody pulled me. But the thrill of jumping out at 3000 feet was overwhelming. For the first time in my life, I felt the rush of a true leap of faith.

Somehow, everything around me slowed down. There are these instances in my life when I mindlessly savour moments; even if I don't want them. Call a time warp if you may, everything seemed and felt black and white; as quiet yet surreal like that guy Chaplin's silent films. It was awe, in a very different way, which I felt. 'Welcome to France', I said to myself. Or 'Welcome to Hell' as it resounded.

My decent was slow, but very violent. The Germans below began shooting the troopers that parachuted down. Flak shell bursts were missing me by a few metres.

I closed my eyes even harder, denying myself of anything from the harsh reality of the background around me. I simply thought that everything was going to be fine. Then I began to picture…home; Kansas. My parents, Tommy, Chris, George, Uncle Douglas, Gretchen, Mr. Doe… their faces suddenly began to picture. So, it is true. That, there are really times that you wish you haven't done this; regret. Like you regret staying up late to chat with a friend instead of hurrying home. Regretting about signing up? Can't say…

It seemed like an eternity as angels lowered me down to the ground. I mustered the strength to open my eyes. A tree was right below me. And I'm going straight to it. Impact was certain so I braced myself. Soon there was a violent thud up my face as leaves and branches broke apart. I was pulled back in a violent reaction; my straps may have caught something. Then it went black as my back slammed hard in the trunk. For the first time, there was pain.

For the first time, I made it in France.

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-TO BE CONTINUED- 


	3. On the Ground

**Disclaimer: **Be advised. From this chapter on, it is a whole new story I wrote. I refined almost every bit of it so I hope you'd all like it. Hate it? Well, thank you for telling… :)

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**CHAPTER 2** "On the Ground"

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January 1942

Ellsworth, Kansas

* * *

Knock, knock. The door of Gretchen's house didn't sound as hollow as it was before. It seemed to have been replaced; the same style, but different wood. It also smelled a little musky, probably a week ago after they gave it a new paint job. This morning was unbelievably hot. I was glad that her house had a shade; an apple tree by her lawn.

Knock, knock. Still no answer.

"Hi. How's it going? Look, I can… no that's not right."

I cleared my voice.

"Uh…Gretchen…I'm just here to say… no, that's even worse."

"Hey…Gretchen…do you want me to give you a walk you to the…damn…"

Trying to think up an explanation was hard. I was dressed up in an enlisted man's uniform, carrying a bag filled with all the memories I have here in Kansas. I was signing up for the Army, and the clothes I wore were a common sight in the neighbourhood. Many of the young men here, friends and strangers alike, were dressed like me; each one had given his goodbye to everyone close to his heart. All of us were going to the train station to be picked up by those Army folks. Chris and George already left 2 days ago. And I was going to catch up with them. I just stopped by Gretchen's place to say anything worth remembering for her sake. But that would be hard. Today might be the last time she'll see me. Better make it worthwhile…

The door opened. Gretchen stood there, clad in her bank teller uniform.

"Robert…" She spoke.

She sounded as if she didn't know I would be wearing this today.

"Hi…" After all that thinking, this was the only one I could say. I forgot about the words I was going to say to her. My throat closed; all the breath refused to come out.

"Hey…I was…I" I continued.

"So…you're going too? I thought…" I knew she was hurt at that moment.

No use explaining now.

"That's why I'm here for."

Her hazel eyes began to flood with tears. I told her last week that I'll be thinking about not to join and stay home; don't give a shit about the others going to sign up for the Armed Forces or the Corps. The problem with me is that I don't try that hard. Much of us were fuelled by enthusiasm; that what we do will make our families proud of us. I said to Gretchen this Wednesday that I was going to say something very important, but Mrs. Bailey wanted her to stay overtime at the bank downtown. I wanted to say that I made up my mind.

One of my talents: the knack to disappoint anybody.

She turned away, clearing off the 'irritation' in her eyes.

"I'm sorry…" I replied.

"Sorry for what? This?" She began to cry, covering her mouth. I did not dare touch her. I felt ashamed. All her hopes about me staying this Christmas with her were all gone. Ever since her father died…

"I just... felt that I had to do something." That was a lame response coming from me. It was an answer she wasn't looking for. In truth, even I don't know why I was joining. Perhaps it was a man's weakness: the capability to show off his pride arrogantly. My grandfathers all joined the Army before. I was proud to say that I'm continuing that line. But for Gretchen, that meant nothing more than a wasteful macho-trip.

Gretchen calmed down. Still she refused to open her eyes.

"I hope you'd understand…"

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

"My brother Gary…dead in Pearl Harbour. My father dead in the Philippines. Now…who's next? You?"

"…"

"Why don't you wake up Robert?"

"I did wake up!" My voice was roared. I don't know how I did it, even though it was obvious that I was the one wrong in this picture. Shouting was a bad move. A really BAD move… Gretchen went silent, turned away as if she doesn't want to look at me; pained at my sudden reaction.

"I'm sorry…But for once let me do something right in my life." I pleaded.

"So this is what you came for?"

"I-"

"Mom was right. I should have seen this coming. I thought you're different." She walked past me, pulling out an umbrella shielding her from the morning sun. I could've walked her to the station, that's where I'm heading anyway. But for her to see those military men hauling the rest of us might pain her. I sighed, knowing that my words didn't go right. She never wanted me to leave.

She turned around, sadness still in her face and replied, "You want to do something right? Then don't waste your life for the both of us!"

I never saw her angry. Yeah, what a day for her to remember me. Likewise, what a day for me to remember her.

"_Wake up! You want to do something right? Then don't waste your life for the both of us!"_

Her words continued to echo in my head, even as I walked into the train with people whom she referred to have shattered their lives. But why? Why would I be wasting my life just because I want to sign up and make my country proud?

That remained a question as I joined up and trained with the various people I met. I got transferred from the Infantry to the Airborne. But those words…it was a question I wish I could find an answer here…in France. Am I doing something wrong?

0020 Hours, Outskirts of Foucarville, Normandy; France

June 6, 1944; D-Day

My nose hurts…

The jump was truly some kind of ride. My head is shaken. I opened my eyes, and the world was a blur. What I saw was the dark ground below me, thanks to the shadows cast by the night. I slid into focus and looked around. I was still strapped in my gear; dangling up in a tree I bumped into earlier. The noises suddenly returned, as if my mind muted them because of the happenings and adrenaline earlier. Back to reality. The explosions and gunfire seemed endless. No time to rest now.

I unsheathed my knife and cut myself loose. Now it's all in my instincts. I landed hard. I just realized that my nose was bleeding. I assessed the area; I just landed near the backyard of some French farmhouse. The windows were all closed. Everything inside was piercingly silent. But that was it. Aside from the architecture of the house, nothing else was worth mentioning.

The ground fire was still intense as the sirens from afar still echoed throughout the dark night. Tracers still glitter the sky. Planes and parachutes alike are everywhere, with explosions still rocking the clouds above.

"Yup…welcome to Normandy, Robert." I said to myself.

On the ground I was all alone. The Captain was right. Everything might not go smoothly. The only things I had in hand to insure my survival was my rifle and my clicker. I strode forward, keeping a low detail as I hopped over the fences, hoping to find somebody wearing the same damn clothes as I am. Or maybe somebody who'll respond to my clicker.

Suddenly, there was shooting. Right here, on the ground, some few metres away. I vanished into the trees avoiding the lights coming from oil lamps; hopefully away from the Germans as well.

Then I continued, still keeping a sharp eye out. Silence was my ally for now. The noise of the fire fights shrouded my every step as I strode on for a few minutes. The trees seemed formed and eternal forest.

Suddenly, there came a rustling in the bushes. It frightened me, my hands shaken as I gripped harder on my rifle. It was so dark that I couldn't see who it was. I aimed towards the noise. The leaves were moving and it was 5 feet away from my right.

Then I saw a figure. A man. He saw me too. A semi-silhouette of a guy holding a rifle. Couldn't tell if he's a kraut or a yank like me. I kept pinching my clicker. No response.

Then there came that split second tension. Pull the trigger or don't? By then, I was about to take the first one.

"Thunder!"

It came from him. It was a call name, a way of assessing if you're Airborne or not. I sighed. Finally, Americans.

"Flash!" I shouted.

He came forward, along with 3 others, running. I stood up. The darkness in his face lightened as he came closer. Yet I wasn't familiar with this guy. Somebody from another a unit. Along with his 3 buddies. He looked like a Lieutenant. Nevertheless, I'm damn happy that I wasn't alone after all.

"You OK, soldier?" He was pertaining about my nose bleeding.

"Yes sir." I answered.

"Good. Care to tag along?"

We ran out of the trees. Then we came across an open field with a few houses; parachutes and some bags littering the farmland. The stone fence from afar was piled with boxes; military supplies from the Germans.

We heard gunfire, not far away. Jumping over the fences, we came across one of the houses. Instead of breaking in, we ran by the wall until we stumbled upon a few Americans; engaged in a battle as bullets zipped past their heads. And, a familiar face…They were all lying prone by a small rise. It was damn good to see more of them.

"Care to join us?"

It was Captain Collin's voice; leading a mixed entourage of paratroopers. The others kept firing. We approached him as we all kept our heads down; covered by the rise. The Lieutenant dared to greet first.

"Lieutenant Speyer, sir. Dog Company, 101st."

"Captain Collins, A Company. Pleased to meet you." Then he noticed me.

"Turner? Glad you could join us. What the hell happen to your nose?"

"Slammed my face in a tree, sir. But I'm fine."

"One of yours, Captain?"

Captain Collins ordered the rest, "Keep up the fire!"

Firing his Tommy, he sprayed a few rounds. Whoever they were firing upon, they were certainly shooting back real hard. I peeked out. They're inside a nearby farmhouse 10 metres away north past our cover. Shrubs are the only things keeping us covered in the rise. An MG-42 up the second floor; the metallic rattling was familiar since it was introduced to us in Toccoa. But soon, the endless stream of bullets stopped.

"Heh. I think the bastards overheated it!"

The Captain shouted out, "Johnson, Owens, suppressing fire! The rest of you follow me! Move up and secure that house!"

Captain Collins ran forward first, two guys beside him, me and the rest just bringing up the rear. Following his lead was the best thing to do now. They were all shooting wildly at us. The Germans stopped firing, the barrel of the machine gun too hot to hand; instead they relied on their rifles. But they were forced to keep their heads down as our own supporting fire crossed their shots at their location. Soon we were already past the krauts' line of fire. Sticking by the wall the Captain threw a grenade up, bouncing inside the second floor window.

"Everybody stay down! Grenade!"

Screams from above. And then BOOM. One of us went inside first. Captain Collins followed him. I stayed behind by the door with the rest. A few seconds later, the two emerged out of the house.

"All clear! Let's go!"

…

That gave me the shock. Go, where?

"Sir?" I asked out.

"Come on! We got a job to do!"

I found myself idle. Was the Captain serious? With just a handful of guys? We don't even know where we are. Well, I don't even know who had the goddamn maps with him today.

The Lieutenant tapped me and said, "Come on, Private, let's go!"

"But go where?"

Truly you don't get this much action, confusion. Everything was way out of plan. What a way to start the Big One. Able Company was just down to me and Captain Collins for now. But what the hell? Everything is a mess. Misdrops are everywhere. And we were just 11 men.

"Hey, did you hear me?"

"Uh…yeah."

The Lieutenant smirked, "You can't take the heat?"

"Well…"

"Don't tell me you're a wuss kid. Come on! Let's go!"

I ran with them, amidst all the gunfire around us. I sighed; but this was just taste of my first action.

* * *

-TO BE CONTINUED- 


	4. A Change of Course

**CHAPTER 3 **"A Change of Course"

* * *

August 1942

Camp Toccoa, Georgia

* * *

"What the hell was that Turner?"

A whistle earlier, the obstacle course was halted. Everybody probably didn't know what was going on. They remained where they were.

Captain Collins approached me.

"Well?"

I made Company history by being the first one who made a mistake in training. It was the 3rd leg of our exercise having emphasis on doing more runs, push ups, sit ups, military stuff.

"Sorry sir. I just-"

"Don't give me an excuse!"

"…"

The trouble of being first place in a race is that you got pressure all around you; blanking out some of your thoughts. It's just that this isn't such a race. This is the obstacle course. The Captain made his way to where I flunked; the fence.

"My instructions were clear, Private!"

I followed him. It was probably the most logical way to get through with this.

"I said stay low and duck under them! What gave you an idea on jumping OVER them, huh?"

"Sir, when I saw the fence, I just cleared it-"

"By jumping?"

"…"

"You weren't listening Turner!"

I guess it was my fault. I trusted on my instincts; instructing myself to perform something in a way it is already automated in me. Probably I got used to getting through things like that by leaping; much like how I do it when I was a kid. Yeah, always hopping over any obstacle that gets it my way as I ran away with 5 dollars in my pocket. Kind of childish of me.

"I don't want any incompetence like that in my Company. Do that again and you'll get your ass kicked out of here!"

"…Yes sir…"

The others were pissed, as far as I could tell. Half-way down the obstacle course, and then I mindlessly hit restart. I could hear the murmurs behind me.

"Alright boys let's do it all over again. Back from the start." The Captain then whistled.

He turned to me and said, "Next time, when you do something, give a damn about thinking! Don't just trust your instincts."

Whoa…how did he know that I was just following my instincts?

Two fellows approached me.

"Thanks a lot, Turner!"

"Next time, why not use your head to smash the opposition?"

"Yeah, yeah…I'm sorry."

That was the very first conversation I had with David and Hugh; and a start to get friends.

Sergeant Donnelly barked out, "O'Shea! McCarran! You can thank Turner later! Get your asses back here!"

* * *

Foucarville, Normandy; France, 0030 hours

D-Day

* * *

After minutes of walking, we stopped by a trench used by the Germans for protection against air raids. We just took the liberty of having a 5 minute break. We were still down to 11 guys. There came a screech up from the skies. It sang louder and louder. Then BOOM! I house obliterated 30 metres away from us. The ground rocked like in a seizure. Heh. Surely the bombers are doing a good job demolishing everything.

Damn. I knew I left my pen.

I approached Lieutenant Speyer.

"Sir, do you have a pencil or…uh…something?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Well, I'm just gonna write down in my diary…"

"You can do that later, man, when this night is over."

"But sir, what if I might not live through this night?"

"Do you want to write in your notebook or not?"

"Of course, sir." I replied.

"So keep your act together! Stay alive so you can write on it later!"

I sat down. Captain Collins and the rest were assessing the situation; jotting down notes in his maps. Trying to find out if there will be a change of course. Another explosion in the distance. Those bombers were hitting the ground hard. But they didn't hamper the Captain's stream of thoughts.

"I think we are here. Foucarville. Probably a mile and a half northeast of Ste. Mere-Eglise."

I could hear them discussing.

"We should take D-17 and head into this town here, Beuzeville-au-Plain. There we could get relief from either from Baker or Dog Company."

D-17 was a road I think. Beuzeville-au-Plain was actually Able Company's objective on D-Day.

"Sir! We got Airborne guys coming!"

"What? Finally!"

"Well! They certainly took a while." Captain Collins exclaimed.

I stood up, keeping my head covered by the bushes and by the trench. Even more reinforcements! Still I gripped on my rifle in case the krauts show up and spoil our rest.

I could here the running of their feet. They were only a few guys as I could tell.

I wasn't able to see their faces because of the bushes. But their voices gave a big smile in my face.

"O'Shea! McCarran! So you guys made it too huh?" said Captain Collins.

"Yes sir. We hooked up with these guys from Baker Company and…"

"We just got lucky that we found you guys here."

"David! Over here!" I shouted out.

O'Shea turned around. I waved my hand out so he could see. The two were certainly surprised to see me. Behind them are 3 others who have met up with them after the jump.

"Hey Robert!"

"I thought you were dead, Turner!" McCarran said.

"Not yet." I grinned

"OK guys break it up. No time for hellos. Let's move out."

Before I knew it, 5 minutes was up.

The Captain ordered, "Guys, listen up. We'll head south, so watch your compasses. We'll head to route D-17 all the way until we reach Beuzeville. We'll take the town from here. Keep your guard up and I don't want any surprises this time. Those not under my command, feel free to tag along. Remember: there are krauts all over the place."

"Yes sir." Lieutenant Speyer replied.

"Oh, and Robert…" Captain Collins turned to me.

"Sir?" I replied.

"I need you to use your head this time, OK?"

I lowered my head with a grin. Yes sir, I'll do that. I was glad that most of the guys here did not know what the Captain meant by that.

McCarran and O'Shea were laughing.

"Shut up you two…" I said.

We were about to move out. Weapons reloaded and ready to go. Lieutenant Speyer came to me.

"Here, take care of it."

He handed me his pencil; a crumpled yellow stick, a bit worn out but the lead's fine.

"Sir? But I thought you said I'll do it later?"

He grinned and said, "I'd be damned if you get your self killed without even writing with it."

I placed the pencil in my pocket; together with my diary.

The words he said gave me a slight intuition about the events that lie ahead. The trek towards our goal was about to begin. I kept those words in mind as we left the trench.

"What happened to your nose, Robert?" McCarran came to me.

"Oh…I got it from the jump. It stings a bit…" I replied.

"Here, take this." He threw me a piece of cloth. "That'll do for now. I'll patch it up later."

I felt that from here on, everything else that'll happen is going to be the real deal.

* * *

-TO BE CONTINUED- 


	5. Beyond What was Expected

**CHAPTER 4 **"Beyond What Was Expected"

* * *

En route to D-17; 2 kilometres from Foucarville, Normandy; France

D-Day; 0090 Hours

* * *

Using the trees to cover our advance, we crouched and steadily made our way; with the darkness to render us like shadows. The landings haven't stopped yet; nor the tracers and heavy gunfire shooting up into the skies. Dozens of planes still litter the blanket of the night above; while parachutes seem like stars as they fall like mushrooms from heaven.

Past the trees that envelope us is a road; presumably one that will lead to Route D-17. Captain Collins was behind me; O'Shea and Lieutenant Speyer taking point. Suddenly they stopped by a steep rise.

"Hold up!" they signalled.

"German patrol 20 metres just ahead."

Damn…Perfect. Well, that was fast.

The Captain ordered, "Everyone stay put and hold your fire."

He then made his way to O'Shea; see for himself what just lay ahead.

"2 trucks hauling German soldiers, sir. Right up there." Speyer pointed out.

Using his binoculars, Captain Collins gave a closer look.

"Shit. They ain't just any regulars."

"Sir?"

"They got FG-42s. Automatic rifles, or some sort."

I was able to picture the Germans even though I could not see them. FG-42s? Damn. We're up against elite soldiers; paratroopers like us. Of course we should have known. The German Fallschirmjager had elements that are stationed everywhere holding key locations and garrisons all over Normandy. The road to Route D-17 was no exception.

"I count 8…10…14 paratroopers disembarking."

"We can take them. We outnumber them by two men."

"Yeah but they have those FG-42s. We attack now we'll get sliced up."

Fallschirmjager Gewher 42. Literary translated as Paratrooper's Rifle model 1942. 10 or 20 they could hold. Fully automatic; giving German paratroopers considerable suppressing fire capability. A compact machine-gun in other words. Or maybe a compact machine-gun with a scope if they had the other variants of it.

"We let them sit or move away. Then we go forward." The Captain ordered.

He was probably right. M1A1 Carbines, Garands, Tommies and one Browning Automatic makeup the only variety we had up against the Germans for now. We can't match their firepower. We attack now and they have the defender's advantage.

But minutes later surely proved that somethings happen, even if they're beyond what was expected.

"What the fuck?" O'Shea cursed. "They're heading this way sir!"

"Damn it!" The Captain looked again.

The situation was worse than we've assessed. The troops deployed were actually…looking for us. I managed to make my way to Lieutenant Speyer; trying to see what did O'Shea meant. I was stunned to see heavily armed men, clad in distinctive German airborne uniforms, spread in formation as they're heading into the forest; into us. I could hear the orders barked out coming from them, in a language I couldn't comprehend. But somehow, they haven't seen us yet.

I looked at Captain Collins and he was surely stunned. His eyes were focused onto the scene of the advancing Germans; as if praying that they turn around and head another direction. But no.

It is really tough being a leader. Especially in a situation like this if things go way out of hand.

"Everyone, lock and load!" He ordered.

The rest quickly followed, huddling themselves to cock their firearms. McCarran went up to me.

"What the hell's going on Turner?"

"German paratroopers heading this way." My reply was straight-forward.

"Shit…Don't tell me we're gonna take them down?"

He knew the dangers of it as well.

The Captain made his way back to the rest of the group, O'Shea and Speyer with him. That moment on, I knew that a fire fight was bound to happen. All 16 of us made a quick run back to assume a better advantage. Yup, the best idea for now is to run.

"Johnson, Owens, same routine. Set up a defensive position at our left flank. Dwight and Helmsley take our right. O'Shea, McCarran and Turner, you guys with me and we'll take centre. The rest take up firing positions in the rear. Everyone be ready to use your grenades."

I suddenly felt tension. The same fear and anxiety came over me once again as they once did over an hour ago. But that was the jump. This time it was about the battle looming just in front of us. Sweat beaded my forehead as my heart thudded faster.

We all took up our respective places. Weapons at hand, we waited.

I prayed that the night and trees should give us an advantage. We were now on the defensive. Anticipating the sudden stomp of a boot to the grass beneath us was what we're waiting for. Hopefully, it'll come from them. But the last thing we need is that they'll see us in an instant. And we'll be duck-shoot for those FG-42s.

I closed my eyes.

There came silence. A deafening one.

I filtered all the other murmurs of my consciousness and of everything around me. I just waited for the voices of those Germans. That was my signal.

"God Almighty, be my strength; be my stronghold. Upon Your rock my enemies will not topple down on me. Only You alone are my light against the darkness they cast upon me…"

O'Shea was murmuring those phrases; repeating them again and again and again. He too was getting scared and anxious.

"Calm down, David." I bid him.

He wouldn't listen. I could see the tension in his eyes.

Moments later the brief silence I had was blinded by a light. A lamp. The Germans came prepared with oil lamps as they begin to scour the trees. They made their way to the small rise; the same place where O'Shea and Lieutenant Speyer halted to warn us of them.

I cleared my throat and I aimed my rifle at the leading Germans. At the same time, I was waiting for Captain Collins' signal. His hand was held up. Hold your fire. The finger in his Tommy was shaking at the trigger.

Every footstep the krauts made was a sign of strain. At any moment, they could spot us with their lights. Then all hell will break loose. Fortunately they haven't seen us yet. The lights in their lamps were shining at the wrong place; I assessed 10 metres away from the right of our nearest man. Still they kept on searching.

They were already in our firing range.

Then…

"OPEN FIRE!"

That single voice stunned the Germans; a split-second they took a look around. We we're at their right.

We all fired at them. Bodies started to go down and tumble. They made attempts to fire back. Their coveted FG-42s did little work. The battle going on was strictly close quarters. Soon the gunfire became synonymous with screams and the bouncing of ejecting brass. Bullets zip past the trees, grass and the ground. Ricochets bouncing barks and soil.

I was shooting wildly, taking down two Germans as they tried to flee. My first shots. My first kills.

Ping! All out. That noise gave me even more pressure as I clumsily opened my bandoleer and get another clip. I didn't count the rounds. As if one squeeze of the trigger, all 8 bullets were used up.

The Germans were caught in disarray. Yet they nabbed us. MP40s, FG-42s and Kar98s were shot back at our positions.

"Man down!"

The guy called Helmsley was shot dead in the chest.

"I'm hit! I'm hit!"

"Lewis is hit!" One cried out.

No one headed his call. His voice died down as gunfire intensified.

I was the only one who could have heard it.

"McCarran! Help him out!" I screamed.

"Got ya'! O'Shea cover me!"

Did I forget to tell that he's the only medic in our group? And a quickster too.

He made a quick sprint amidst all the shooting. He lay next to me. The Germans suddenly whittled down in numbers. Hugh ran to where Lewis was; lying down flat in his back.

"Fire in the hole!" Speyer threw a grenade into the retreating Germans; who had no time to run. Like cowards, they tried to run.

"Granate! Granate!"

BOOM! It was too late for them.

I could assess that they were all taken out by the resulting explosion. Yet everyone continued to fire, even though the smoke was billowing. Nobody fired back at us.

No more gunfire.

No more screams…

There came the silence that resumed once more. Smoke from our barrels smoulder the trees.

"Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" Captain Collins screamed.

I couldn't get my finger away from the trigger. I took deep breaths as my eyes scanned the results ensued. It was hard to believe that it was over. It seemed that it took minutes before we all took a breather. My heart kept pounding; echoing the series of gunfire I've heard.

"Everyone all right?"

All of us nodded. I looked at McCarran, tending at the wounded guy named Lewis.

"Lewis is dead…"

That answer was followed by a bitter expression in his face. His eyes looked, however, that he had seen this before.

"You alright, Hugh?" I asked.

"Yeah…yeah…"

"Good job guys…let's move out…leave the bodies…" Captain Collins ordered.

Wiping the sweat from my face, I followed his lead. The rest were with me, while McCarran and O'Shea lag behind; assuming they were watching our backs. We kept a sharp eye out; weapons at hand as we readied ourselves for any post-encounter threats.

My first action was just beginning…

We made our way to the abandoned trucks, used by the Germans earlier. Speyer, however, seemed to have taken interest in them. The Captain knew what was on his mind.

"Speyer, care to drive?"

"Sure…"

What the hell are they thinking?

"Good." The Captain replied, "We'll just drive our way to Beuzeville with this."

"Yes sir. Hope none of them krauts spot us hijacking their truck." Speyer spoke with a grin.

"Everybody get your butts here! We're going in for a drive by."

A mix of joy, laughter and awe were at their faces. Captain Collins can't be serious! Driving into enemy territory with that? My mind assessed their motives as the rest huddled into the back.

One fact of war: anything beyond what was expected is bound to happen.

McCarran was gloomy, very unlikely of him. O'Shea patted his back as the engine began to sing with a metallic purr. What's wrong with him?

Accommodating himself at the front seat, Captain Collins said to us, "Move it ladies! Get in the back of the truck!"

* * *

-TO BE CONTINUED- 


	6. The Welcoming Party

**CHAPTER 5 **"The Welcoming Party"

* * *

0200 Hours; Route D-17, Outskirts of Beuzeville-au-Plain, Normandy; France

D-Day

* * *

_06/06/44 _

_1st entry_

_Guess what? I'm in France at last. I hooked up with Captain Collins after the jump; met a few guys on the way. I also met up with David and Hugh on the ground. Right now, we've commandeered a truck and we're headed to Beuzeville-au-Plain. Haven't seen anyone from my unit, aside from them. Hopefully, most of them are OK. _

_Among us are a collection of men from Dog, Fox and Baker Companies. Seems the night drops became a mess. We lost two guys earlier. In any case we're headed now to our objective. The capture of Buezeville probably will give the guys on the beaches a road to take as they link up with us. However, the krauts could be already being mobilized in a counter-attack against us. Should that happen and they'll catch us a hell of a men short…_

_I pray we all make it through the night…_

* * *

"You can give it to me later, Private." Lieutenant Speyer replied.

I was handing him the pencil I borrowed. Just finished writing in my diary.

"Give it to me when we get to Boozeville."

"Beuzeville…Lieutenant." Captain Collins commented.

Well, so far so good. The Germans haven't spotted us yet. The road we were taking wasn't rough, but there came the occasional humping when we drove through the rough edges. Funny. The shaking I was feeling reminds me of the airplane I sat on just earlier. At least we have a long rest, until we reach the town. And soon, it's gonna be another fight.

It was already 2:03 AM. My Rolex was a bit dirty after being smudged a bit with Normandy soil.

Actually, we should have already been to Buezeville-au-Plain 45 minutes ago. We occasionally stopped, drove the truck into the trees when we saw a few German half-tracks on patrol earlier. There were a lot of troop movements in the area. I'd say about several platoons are scattered around the landing sites; hoping to find and neutralize the paratroopers who had survived the jump.

Parachutes litter the road. Like a kindergarten's mess.

McCarran was blindly starring at the shaking floor. His eyes were still; a train of deep thoughts chugging in his mind. I assessed it was a normal reaction for a man after surviving a bitter gunfight.

"You sure your alright, Hugh?" I asked.

No answer.

"You don't need to ask, Robert…" O'Shea commented.

"I was just-"

Knock, knock.

"Alright, ladies, the joy ride is over. We'll stop here, and then we move on foot." Captain Collins ordered.

Buezeville was visible in the horizon. The place was practically consisted of houses. But there was something awfully weird. An eerie bright glow emanated in the distance.

"Man…the place is burning!"

We all got out of the truck. I assumed that the fire partly ravaging the town was because of the attacks done by the bombers. The planes still litter the skies. The explosions were still heard. The guns still zip into the air. A burning village was bound to be common here.

We parked the truck just beside a tall brick wall. Trees and fences line up the road. With a wave of the hand, Captain Collins ordered us to move out. Weapons at ready, we were prepared for another fight.

We were huddled up near fence, bordering another road. It was at least 4 feet tall for some reason. Past that are a couple of houses; seemed abandoned. There was a machine-gun resting by the 2nd floor window of one of them. But no one's there. No Germans…yet.

"Alright guys stay low and move fast." The Captain ordered.

We used the fence the cover our advance.

"Get your heads down! Get your heads down!" He whispered.

Fear and anxiety was prevalent amongst us. The night seemed like an ironic reflection to us; the usual silence of it after the light of day was overpowered by the roars of the explosions above. Hopefully they were loud enough to shroud the slightest thuds of our feet; as we made our way past into the town.

So far so good. Yet it was deathly quiet.

We made past the fence. Across the road was another fence.

"Jump over them! Go! Go!" The Captain whispered again.

"Hey, Turner! Remind you of something?" O'Shea murmured.

"Shut up!"

Once we were all through, we resumed our trek. We entered what appeared to be the village entrance; a small steel gate that led into a forked path. The aroma of burning wood was getting stronger. We made a right turn, coming into an inclined lane. Unusually, though, there was a helmet lying on the ground before us; so are bloodstains. One of us inspected it. It seems that one fellow dropped it; no trace of splinters, bullet holes, blood or anything.

"Stay sharp guys!"

We stood close watch as we walked. The place seemed to be unusually empty. The ground, however, was littered with plenty of footprints; marks of boots as if resembling a panicked group running away or a huddled set of men running forward. They seemed to look like German and American alike as we continued on.

There were no Germans in sight. We turned to the right. We came across a local motor pool.

Bang!

A shot fired.

"Spread out! Spread out!" Lieutenant Speyer screamed as we ran for cover. Contact was made.

The shot came from a house; a muzzle flash blinked near it. The bullet ricocheted away into the ground as eyes began to peer at every direction. .

Then another shot, missing us and hitting the concrete exterior of a wooden pole.

"Shit! Take cover!"

Wait a minute…

"That didn't sound like a K98…" Speyer murmured.

It was a Garand. Like the one I was using. Who could have…?

The Captain knew what was amiss.

"Thunder!" Captain Collins shouted out…

No response.

"Thunder!" he called out again.

…

…

…

"Flash!"

A voice from no where.

"What the hell was that?" I asked.

"Airborne guys, Turner…More of us." He grinned.

Another voice from the distance.

"Captain Collins? Hey the Captain's here! Everyone the Captain's here! They made it!"

We all stood up. Two guys, clad in the same uniform as ours came out from the rubble of a smoking house from ahead. Their faces smudged in dirt. Holding their rifles, they greeted us. Why on earth they're here?

"Sorry about that sir. Thought that you were one of the stragglers." One said.

Stragglers? Do we look like stragglers?

The night could have dimmed out all of our profile.

"Never mind that. This place secured?"

"Yes sir. We we're just handling the mop-up work."

That answer wasn't a relief. The place was already ours the moment we got here. Beuzeville was already captured. The blood has been shed for us earlier. We came a bit too late to join in and fight.

"Sergeant Donnelly took temporary command, sir." The other said.

"Where is he then?"

"Right there sir, in the restaurant. We set it up as an aid station for our wounded."

"Much of the guys from Able Company landed in their marks, sir. We just got here half a mile north of this town. We regrouped; took the town in numbers. Much of the German garrison here left before we came; we speculated that they were all headed to Ste. Mere-Eglise. We saw them drive most of their materiel and men south west of here."

"Your strength?" the Captain asked.

"About 20 men sir, minus you guys and our KIA."

We let them lead the way. We made our path through the village, badly burnt and punctured with a lot of rubble and bullet holes. I could tell that the place was just taken an hour ago, maybe. Brass casings and grenade pins litter the ground. It was one hell of the fight.

There were no bodies. We saw them piled up in a field, beside a burning house just west of us. Airborne are everywhere, getting glances and blank stares at us.

The town wasn't big though. Smaller than the suburbs. Beuzeville was merely a town in the middle of the road. But it was liveable. Barbed wires, sandbags and iron hedgehogs are placed in the pathways and alleys. There was a ruined Flak 88 by a barber shop; its metallic grey grew darker with the black scars of it being set ablaze earlier.

What waited for us in the town square was the welcoming party. A bunch of Airborne guys resting near a water fountain; cracked up but still running.

"Wesson!" O'Shea yelled out.

I mapped him out from the group. He was shocked to see us alive.

"Turner! O'Shea! McCarran! You guys made it!" He ran towards us; his glasses almost falling.

I smiled back. But like a cold-shoulder, not a word broke free from my mouth.

The others were surprised to see Captain Collins. I could tell that they didn't have the strength left to even greet him or us. Good to see that they were alright. The rest of us scattered throughout the village, hoping to take a breather or whatever. McCarran and O'Shea made their way to the chapel.

"Where are you guys going?" I asked.

"Gonna catch some shut-eye. Care to join?"

I followed them. I left without a word as the stream of chatters echo in my ears. It was kind of wrong for us to have gained the rest that we thought we deserved; whereas it was our comrades who bled and fought for it; did all of the work in capturing this town of Beuzeville.

"Wesson! Get over here quick!" Captain Collins barked out.

The night was over at last.

Yet there comes daylight.

And for some reason, I wished that the sun will not shine tomorrow.

* * *

-TO BE CONTINUED- 


	7. A Calm Before Tomorrow

**CHAPTER 6 **"A Calm Before Tomorrow"

* * *

Ellsworth, Kansas; 1937, Saturday

* * *

"You should really get used to this job, Matthew." 

"How can I get used to it? I break my back everyday and I can only earn enough for one loaf of bread."

"Yeah. Yeah…or maybe half a dozen eggs, or a bottle of milk…"

"And now, the union can't even appeal to Ford about our conditions." He sighed

"It'll take time, Matt. Remember, you lose this job and we've got nothing left but this house to sell."

"I know, Martha. But you can't expect us to keep our mouths shut because broken hands and wrists and faces splotched with motor oil ain't enough for us to have our appeals sent on federal court."

My parents were again discussing at the dinner table. Again, Labour issues. The 30's was truly a hard time for my family. Of course it would. Since Wall Street crashed in 1929, Mom lost her job at the dairy farm. Dad lost his at the bank just downtown from my neighbourhood. They were both lucky, though, to have at least kept all of us well-fed.

My father Matthew got hired in a car factory. Mom had a job in the local dry cleaning. Weekends, she handles a bread line in Missouri; travelling by train at 6 in the morning.

Life's hard. All I can think about are my studies, yet I needed to help. Saturdays, I worked for Mr. Doe and his home improvement thing. He pays me 50 cents a day, a dollar or two if the work was tough or if I worked overtime. His house was a terrible mess. He just moved here two months ago, after he had bought the old house two blocks away from our street. That house was once owned by the Parkers, before they shipped to Britain. It has been left to rot since then.

Last Saturday I helped fix the broken water pipe in the basement. It was difficult. The old man's really thankful, anyways. I don't know where he gets all those bucks he keeps on paying me. Some say he runs the small bakery down the road. But Chris and George suspect him to have worked for the Chicago mob bosses and that he moved here to Kansas to hide from the cops. They claim that they saw a lot of boxes in Mr. Doe's backyard; crates containing bootlegs and other liquor.

"Aren't you going to eat that Robert?" Dad called me up.

"Yeah…just thinking something…" I mumbled.

"Eat all up. Not everyone's lucky to even have dinner." Mother said.

"How's that old man Arthur today?" He asked; a frown in his face. He too had doubts about him.

"Oh…Mr. Doe didn't show up today…"

"Really?"

"…His car wasn't in the front yard though…"

Dad grinned, "I knew he was with those mob-"

"Matt!" Mother spoke up.

"What? I'm just kidding!"

Dad wasn't a drinker. One Saturday evening, during our family reunion, I came home from Mr. Doe's place; I had with me a bottle of Scotch whisky. Nobody in town can even afford that after the Prohibition back in the 20's as far as we're concerned. Since then Dad has his suspicions with the old man.

That night as well, I drank with my dad. We climbed up in the attic, Chris and George with me as well as my cousin Tommy and Uncle Douglas enjoyed a few bottles of whisky; the Scotch that I brought home was the last we touched. Yeah…that was a happy time amidst the Great Depression. I remembered Mom screaming to us to pipe down; our smiling and laughing lasted until mid night.

That was the only time dad ever drank, you know to drink to forget. I could still savour the spirits and the bitter-sweet taste every time I take sips on something else. Like a memory one could always recall.

* * *

0800 Hours, Beuzeville-au-Plain, Normandy; France 

D-Day; day-break

* * *

It was morning. Finally. The guys on the beaches must have landed by now. They were just a few miles away from us but that seems like a million in our point of view. Right now, there is nothing much to do but to hold up with the guys who took this town earlier. Fortunately, there might be no counter-attacks from the krauts. Right now, we hoped today should be a calm before tomorrow. 

I was sipping on some wine, together with Wesson at the cellar below the restaurant; where Captain Collins and the rest of the officers are discussing right above us.

"What do they call this thing again?" I asked.

"The French guys called this one cognac. Some sort of French brandy…"

"Damn…it smells like Normandy brandy to me. Tastes like cherry water too." I gulped down my cup.

"Maybe it got aged quite too long."

"I could sure use some Scotch. You seen any whisky bottles here?"

"Nope." Wesson finished his as he replied, "We're in France, dumbass, you won't see any English brands here."

A good way to start breakfast. Cornbread and some wine. The heat surely woke me up.

"Gotta get back to work." Wesson stood up.

"Where're you going, John?" I asked.

"Oh…forgot to mention…our radio got broken during the jump."

"Guess it's your fault, eh?" I smiled.

"Yeah, yeah…Come on Robert." He bid.

We walked up the stairs; Captain Collins and the rest are busy discussing today's plans. I tried to filter out their chatter coming to my ears. I don't want to hear any imminent tasks of today. Though I'm awake, I didn't get much sleep last night. The chapel was cold; even with a blanket on. The planes and gunfire outside kept rocking me from my drowsiness even when I closed my eyes.

But I couldn't help it. I overheard the situation talked about by the Captain. On their table were maps. Lines and circles jot out our location and the enemy's.

"…Possibly 2 more platoons will come to counter-attack. They could take the road from Chef-du-Pont and take a turn away from Ste. Mere-Eglise, making us the next town ahead of them. Right now, for defence we got 3 captured MG-42s, one Browning 30 cal, we got 3 mortars and several caches of Panzer Fausts scattered throughout the town. We were lucky enough to have salvaged most of them."

"Most of these were stationed down south sir. That place is the most likely entry point for the Germans." Lieutenant Alderman spoke.

"Why would they attack us anyway?" Lieutenant Speyer asked.

"Ste. Mere-Eglise is a vital town for the Germans. Anything around it could be as important as it is."

"How about the possibility of an attack from the garrisons near Utah, Sergeant? How about here in Foucarville up north? Our drive from there last night had us encounter numerous German vehicles; possibly en route to reinforce the town." Captain Collins asked as he pointed out in the map.

"That wouldn't be possible sir." Sergeant Donnelly sighed, "As far as I'm concerned the 82nd may have already taken Ste. Mere-Eglise. They'll be sending many of troops there to re-take it; the Foucarville reinforcements might be bound for the town or at Utah Beach; that's for sure."

"But we shouldn't forget the troops from St. Lo and Carentan" Lieutenant Speyer cut in, "They alone can be allotted for the retaking of Ste. Mere-Eglise; there are enough of them stationed there. The rest would probably be sent to reinforce Utah beach…"

"…And they'll be taking this road. Here in our position." The Captain muttered.

"Well, that's just a speculation."

"We really need to get our radio fixed quick…" Sergeant Donnelly spoke up.

Jesus…I heard too much

Their eyes glanced towards me and Wesson. "I thought you were with Rosenbaum, Wesson?" Captain Collins asked out.

"Oh…uh…I was just having my breakfast downstairs…" His voice quivered.

"Get your ass back with him! We got a lot of work to do!"

"Yes, sir."

We went outside. Airborne guys sprinkled everywhere, jostling at the town going about their routines like the townsfolk here used to be. Sentries were positioned in the buildings, keeping at watch. The structures ablaze last night were reduced to a charcoaled heap; smoke billowing from their ruins. I heard from the others that more guys from Able Company managed to come by the village at dawn when I was asleep; as well as an assortment of a few others from Fox and Baker. The place seemed like a haven.

The landings were surely a mess last night.

The guy named Rosenbaum was in a barber shop, tending tediously at the disassembled radio. It looked like the standard one issued to every platoon. Its bag was missing, though.

"What's up Dieter?" Wesson spoke up.

"_Guten Tag…" _

"You already done with it there?"

"You're asking me? I thought you're the one who knew about the clockwork of this."

"Just see what you can do."

"Hey! I wouldn't be doing this if only you haven't landed right in the middle of a pond and used this as a shield last night! _Dummkopf!_" ("Idiot")

He spoke with a very odd accent. As his name implies, I'm quite sure that this Rosenbaum guy is an immigrant; a German. It was odd; I didn't saw him back in Toccoa.

Wesson went beside him; try to see what's wrong as he fumbles his glasses. I placed my rifle next to his, on top of a table.

"The transistor is dead broken. Way beyond repair. I fixed the tuner but with this much damage…"

"Shit. How are we going to explain this to the Captain?" Wesson sighed.

"…"

"How about you, Turner? What do you think?"

"What? That thing is your problem, John. Not mine!"

"I think we should find parts for it right now." Rosenbaum suggested. "Come on, this is a village right? I think there's bound to be something we could use to repair this. _Wie tust sie typen stehen?_" ("What do you guys say?")

"Yeah…as if there's a radio repair shop here! Give me a break!"

But he could be right.

"I think Rosenbaum's right. There is a chance there can be-"

yells>

I couldn't finish my words. Somebody was shouting out. I heard it. Then it became louder as it sounded; clear as the daylight today.

All 3 of us looked at each other, in awe. I cursed as I hurried. We grabbed our rifles and ran outside, so are the rest. And with a flick of a finger, the tranquil day ended immediately. Everybody was hustling outside. The yells kept ringing our bells back to reality; back to action:

"WE GOT COMPANY!"

"TIGER TANK INCOMING!"

* * *

-TO BE CONTINUED- 


	8. Returning to the Fray

**CHAPTER 7 **"Returning to the Fray"

* * *

Beuzeville-au-Plain, Normandy; France

D-Day; day-break

* * *

The first question I wanted an answer was 'where'.

"Where the hell is it?" I asked out.

"Down south!" A soldier replied.

The footsteps we made were soon trounced by the sound of machine-gun fire. I could say it was from ours. Wherever it is, it was just probably a few runs away. I didn't care to look around and see where O'Shea and McCarran are. Anyways, we were heading at the same direction. Here we go again; returning to the fray.

"Everyone! Man defensive positions now!" Captain Collins barked out orders as he ran ahead.

"_Shise! _I forgot about the radio!" Rosenbaum tried to run back for it.

"You can go for it later, Dieter!" I yelled. "We got something worse to worry about!"

We came across the southern border of this village; the battle was already underway. Fences lining up near a road that stretched back far into zigzags of asphalt and trees. There were sandbags and barbed wires lined up here, with an MG-42 we captured making the shots. The enemy tank was there, in the horizon. It was followed by a few half-tracks and infantry. The spearhead of the German counter-attack.

Sergeant Donnelly was right; an enemy offensive would likely come due south.

We took up our positions in the sandbags. Hopefully, the ditches the others had dug over night could stall the enemy. There was no use waiting for the Captain's signal. I fired my rifle, so as the others.

"Lieutenant Alderman! Call in mortar support now! We need to slow them down before that tank can get within its firing range!" Captain Collins ordered.

"Yes sir!"

He turned to me and said, "Turner! Wesson! Get a Panzer Faust in that house over there and bring it back here! Take out that tank if it gets close enough!"

"Roger that! Come on Robert!"

The machine-gun fire was soon joined by rifles and Tommies. I ran with Wesson; hoping that he knew where to find the rocket launcher in the house. We made our way inside, in the living room. A rectangular box was there, stashed by the fireplace. The inscription was German, but I could tell that this was it because of the headings "Panzer Faust". I tried to open it.

"John! Help me!"

We removed the outer front cover; and I brought out one tube. Quite frankly, they were heavy. Hope mine was heavy enough to blow up the tank.

"We'll get 2 more!" Wesson said, "Just in case we miss or anything…"

Then we ran out, with Wesson hugging most of the launchers. The mortars requested earlier suddenly fired; a familiar ignition came throbbing in my ears. They fired in unison, firing one after the other as we made our way to Captain Collins.

Soon there came a whistling sound. Then…

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Each explosion was seconds apart. Grass and soil were blown upwards as the fire and smoke rained down bits of ground. A few Germans got hit as the others franticly made a charge towards us. Idiots. There is no cover for them but only a small rise to protect them from us. I took a few aimed shots and I brought another kraut down.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Another wave of mortars fired. A half-track was directly hit. But the enemy kept moving forward, despite the losses they were experiencing. German dead litter the killing zone as our gun fire intensified.

The Tiger Tank began to elevate its smoothbore cannon, as its machine gun made a desperate attempt to keep our heads down. I made my way towards Lieutenant Speyer's group, huddled up in the back firing up in the rubbles of a smoking house. Rosenbaum was with them. The tracers were almost inches from my faces; I had to relocate.

Wesson was alone with the rest.

"Wesson! Now!" Captain Collins shouted out.

He stood up; his glasses shaken as he rested the Panzer Faust in his shoulder. There was concentration in his eyes. Lining up the sights, he aimed at the turret of the tank. He squeezed and the rocket fired. It streamed forward like an arrow.

BOOM!

The tank's ammunition and fuel burst into flames as it got obliterated.

"Got him!" Wesson shouted out. "I got h-"

Bang!

A helmet thud was followed by a bullet ripping through metal and flesh.

Wesson fell down flat in his back; a bullet hole gaping at his head as blood seeps out through it. His glasses blown of by the force of impact.

Captain Collins was shock in awe; his eyes wide as the man beside him fell down.

"WESSON!"

"Man down! Man down!"

But back then, I didn't hear him. I didn't saw it. The bullets zipping past my head became heavier; I was keeping my head down. The Germans hiding in the rise made attempts to fire back at us. The unscathed half-track that remained continued to open fire with its machine-gun. I aimed and shot at its armoured turret; hoping to take out the one that mans it.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

A third wave of mortars. Then a metallic crunch. This time it had hit the half-track. It exploded as its fuel ignites; enough to turn it into a burning mess. It was loud enough to shroud the screams of those inside. The remaining Germans huddled in the rise were now trapped without support. They made an attempt to fall back, using the derelicts of the destroyed Tiger Tank and half-tracks for cover. Retreat was the best idea for them.

"Look at the bastards run!"

"Don't stop! Let 'em have it!"

Others laughed. Others cheered. Others took down those who were already trying to run. The guys manning the captured MG-42 let loose a seemingly eternal stream of lead. The deserters were picked off little by little. There came another whistling sound. But it sounded so close. TOO close. Then there came an explosion beside us.

BOOM!

Shattered rocks, wood and glass were flying everywhere as the house at our right got blown to pieces; an artillery fire against the MG-42 manned in there by the others. It was a mortar; care of the enemy.

"Shit! Shit!" I cursed.

Dust sprayed right in my face as smoke began to billow from the burning house. I stood in awe; the first casualties for the defence of this town were inflicted.

Another one yelled.

"TIGER TANK! SOUTH EAST!"

I made my way down; follow the ones who were running towards east. The enemy shifted at our left. Damn them…

"McCarran! O'Shea! Make your way back and find Lieutenant Alderman! Tell him to redirect our mortars south east! Lieutenant Speyer! Gather a few of our guys and hold this position! The rest of you follow me!" Captain Collins ran back; again leading the way.

There was gunfire from the other side of town. I hurriedly made my pace; the Panzer Faust in my back slowed me down; its bulkiness hoisted in the straps. Rosenbaum was behind me.

"Where is Wesson?" he asked, his voice breaking.

"Maybe with Lieutenant Speyer and the others."

We made our way to the chapel. I was the first to go in when…

BOOM!

Sounded like a cannon fired. Its walls disintegrated. I was shaken. I felt the sudden force of the explosion bringing me to my knees. It catapulted me. I was lying down flat on my back. The others moved inside amidst the mess; gunfire resumed once again.

"Robert! Robert!"

My body was heaved from the impact to the ground. Rosenbaum lent me a hand. My ears were still ringing. I struggled to stand up. The explosion ripped apart half of the chapel; debris lying everywhere.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah…" I nodded. My vision was blurring as I staggered towards inside.

Inside the chapel; the others were firing through the windows amidst all the glass, wood, soil and concrete that lay broken beneath our feet. Bullet casings came falling down as we continued to fight off the enemy outside; on the other side of the chapel. They were covered by the fences and the trees; I counted maybe 12 of them trying to break through our flank; 20 metres away from us.

A tank emerged from the trees. Seemingly out of nowhere.

"Let them have it! Push them out of here!" Captain Collins yelled.

But the enemy seemed desperate; their volume of fire became more intense. One of us was hit. The piercing sound of ripped flesh; suddenly became prevalent as the fighting continued.

"Gallagher!"

"Tiger Tank! Look out!"

The enormous beast totting a huge gun began to turn; aiming towards the other half of the building we were in. No amount of bullets can daunt in from firing. My eyes were locked staring at it.

"Turner! Take out that tank, now!" Captain Collins ordered.

I went up beside him, dropping my rifle to free my hands. I was shaking. I raised the sights and began to aim. I took a deep breath. Now the front hull of the tank is crossed. I pulled the trigger. Then just like that, the rocket zoomed; leaving a white smoking contrail directing its path.

BOOM!

The explosion ripped apart its frontal chassis.

"Tank's history!"

Without anymore armour, the remaining Germans fled. Like cowards, again they ran away from a fight. Some of us stayed and reinforced our exposed flank. Captain Collins ordered the rest to move out and return to the south edge. The battle was fierce. And I'm almost weary from it all.

From a distance, the gunfire can still be heard. It was everywhere. We made our way towards its direction. Back to Lieutenant Speyer's position. But the Captain had other ideas.

"Turner! Rosenbaum! Go back to where you left the radio and secure it! Make sure it's still intact!"

The enemy began using their mortars now. Many were running off the streets; the ground sprinkled with debris and smoke as houses began to get hit with intensity. They were shelling us.

I remembered about the one Dieter was fixing a while ago. It was in the barber shop somewhere here.

"Let's go!" I nodded back.

We ran across the streets. Amidst the shooting and exploding that enveloped the battlefield around us, I was compelled to fight alongside the others. But we have something more important to worry about. Well, at least in the Captain's point of view. We made a sprint down the road. I couldn't remember much of the signs in this town; points of references that could help lead the way. I couldn't read them. We hoped the shop was still unscathed. The artillery from afar began hitting closer inland.

"Here! This way!" Rosenbaum pointed out.

Alas, the shop was still in one piece. The radio was still there the way we left it; disassembled.

"Give me your gun Dieter! Bring everything!"

His hands scooped every bolt, every screw, every circuit into his waist bag. With two hands he hoisted the radio.

"OK! Let's go! To the restaurant, where it could be safe."

"Right, down the cellar! Hurry!" I pointed out.

We made our way down fast. Bottles of wine began to break as they fall down to the floor; the whole village being shaken by the intense barrage from the Germans. Our footsteps suddenly seized as we lay down the broken radio next to the casks. I took a deep breath. My face was all smudged up with dust and sweat. The feeling was familiar, though. As if it was an element we should all find ubiquitous from now on. Suddenly, I felt my feet stood me up. That urge took over me again.

"Come on let's hurry back outside. They might need us."

"What?"

I gave him back his rifle.

"We got a job to do! Come on!"

I ran outside. I didn't mind if Rosenbaum was following me. The battle was still taking place. And I had to do something. The thing I always felt right.

"Something right for once in my life…"

* * *

-TO BE CONTINUED- 


	9. Smiles

**CHAPTER 8 **"Smiles"

* * *

"_It is foolish and wrong to mourn for those who have died. Rather, we should thank God that such men lived…"_

_-General Patton_

* * *

Beuzeville-au-Plain, Normandy; France

D-Day

4 hours later…

* * *

Quite frankly, I have never been in a cemetery before. Only once. But that was when my grandfather was laid to rest in Missouri. I was only 3 years old, as Mom retold to me. A place like that had always cast down to me a ghastly and mournful atmosphere, even though I have never visited such a place when I can now assess the stark difference of life and death.

In a narrow field between two houses were freshly dug graves of our fallen. Stretched out and lined up in an orderly manner. I never really saw this part of the town. The bodies piled up in a field I saw earlier last night were just a preliminary for this.

Helmets were resting upon rifles and wooden crosses that are erected on the ground; honouring their once alive and well masters. Decorating these graves were the names; either written by charcoal or branded by the dog tags strung on them.

It was a shame that the dead Germans never had such a privilege.

Many would dare not answer the reason why. The bodies were laid in a fallow pasture outside of town; with stacks of hay to bury them.

Rosenbaum was sitting near one of the crosses. A bleak trace of sorrow was etched in his face. After the battle earlier, there came a placid ambience amongst us who survived. I was thankful that we have one; since I never had the chance to fire my rifle again after I ran outside from the restaurant. But now, everything felt like last night; everyone barely had the courage or strength left to even talk to one another.

Wesson was killed.

So are 9 others.

No rites and rituals were held after the remains were gathered. Lieutenant Speyer smirked that by doing so, the Germans may catch us with our pants down. Isn't that something?

I approached Dieter, holding the glasses of the fallen John Wesson.

"You OK, Rosenbaum?"

Being nice to a stranger works; even though I only met this fellow here 4 hours ago.

"Yeah…just a little shaky…" he murmured.

"Shaky, huh? Where did you learn that?"

"I can say that there are a lot of terms I still need to learn from you Yanks." He managed to crack a smile.

"John taught you that; didn't he?"

"Yeah. He was one of those people whom I signed up together with. We got close since then."

I myself was not close to John. I only met Wesson at training day; he almost got RTUed when they found out that he was an arachnophobic. Sergeant Donnelly remarked that nobody wanted a geeky-chicken in his platoon. His fear didn't cause him his life anyway. Ironically it was his courage. Dieter paused for a moment as he stared at his grave. I needed to cheer up this guy. But, I don't know him that much.

"So where do you live? And how did you get yourself in the military anyway?" I asked him.

"Heh…well, I'm from Boston. My parents and I left Munich in Germany after they began rounding up Jews. I don't know how I got myself here in the Airborne…maybe I was lucky enough to have had a place that will welcome me. Or us, in our case."

"So there were more of you guys?"

"Not just German. I saw some Polish too, in our lodging back in Ireland. But probably these guys were already in America decades before this war started."

Yeah. Probably. Reminds me of the folks who flocked to New York during the 30's.

"Hey Turner! Who's your new friend?"

It was O'Shea. I didn't felt him walking up behind me. I turned around. Hugh was with him as always. Unusually, they were smiling. The second instance I saw after the happenings earlier.

"You always like sneaking up on me, do you David?" I smirked.

"Heh heh…Old habits die hard, man." He laughed.

"So, this is where all the others are…" McCarran looked around.

"Others?"

"I mean the dead ones, dumbass."

It was strange. Being surrounded by several graves didn't bother me that much; even though I knew I wasn't comfortable in any place like this. Probably this is the effect of gathering yourself together after winning a fight. Especially like the one this morning. Almost nobody was smiling after that. All we can do is to snap out from the hell we experienced from the Germans; the wreckage of their own making.

I sipped some water from my canteen. I sure wished that the guys from Utah Beach arrive soon. The constant alertness we have to experience was getting unhealthy for all of us. The enemy may be coming back again. If that would happen we'll find ourselves smacked into another battle. The routine gets tiring every time.

What to do from here? Nothing much. We sent a few guys on patrol earlier; try to see if there are any more Germans coming or if the boys from Utah are already en route. One headed north, the other headed the opposite. Lieutenant Speyer headed the one bound north. Captain Collins managed to procure for them two Type 88 Kubelwagens for their journey. The guys from Baker Company were able to fix them.

Speaking of fixing, I forgot about the radio that Dieter was working on.

"Hey Rosenbaum, how's the radio you were…"

"I told Wesson before. It's WAY beyond repairing. All we should do is to just pray that our friends at the beaches reach us first."

"Wait a minute! You're Rosenbaum?" McCarran asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

"The German guy from 2nd Platoon? From Sergeant Spears' boys?"

"In the flesh Hugh…" O'Shea remarked.

"What about his name?" I said to him.

"No, nothing. Just curious. I heard that he almost got expelled from training after they knew about him. The brass wanted his ass out of Toccoa so bad that they even got a tit-for-tat with the Immigration guys."

"But they were convinced that a kraut like me can do some good for them." Rosenbaum smirked.

"Like what?" I asked.

"Interrogating, deceiving, translating… and of course kicking their asses back to the Deutschland."

"You wouldn't mind shooting your 'countrymen' would you?"

"They're just the enemy. No more, no less. They were shooting at me last night anyway."

"Really?" O'Shea giggled.

"Yeah! I was crying out in German 'don't shoot! I'm a German! I'm a German!' But did they listen!"

The laughter was brief. But the distressed atmosphere of the place quickly took over us again. It all turned bitter. Silence. The mounds of ground containing remains of fellow paratroopers gave a hollow premonition; reminding me that death was inevitable. Right in front of us used to be people fighting beside us; people who were not lucky enough to have lived through the day. They were the ones we knew we have the power to save. But what can we do?

Nothing. Just to stay alive.

McCarran glanced back at the crosses. He stood up and came to me.

"Here, Robert..."

From his pocket, he gave me a card. An Ace of Hearts. By just holding the partly crumpled thinness, I instantly knew who owned it.

"Hey, ain't this…Clyde's…?"

"Yeah…" He muttered.

It was his lucky card. He said that it one him his very first poker game. It gave him luck since then.

I soon remembered about him. Shanny was the guy next to me during the drops last night. I didn't bother where he was; I was a few seconds late when I took that leap. McCarran and O'Shea managed to meet up with each other. Somehow we forgot all about him.

Hugh's face was depressing. The same look he gave to me during our trip to here last night.

"Clyde's dead…He drowned in a flooded field just outside Foucarville."

"What? How did you-"

"The plane swerved the moment you jumped out. I landed at the wrong place; but just a few runs away from his. That card was snagged in his helmet. That's how I found him…"

So that was it…

"I took off my gear and made a quick swim. I got him back to the ground. I tried to save him…"

Hugh never failed. He took it not as a pride, but as a challenge he keeps on winning. And somehow, God wanted us to make our firsts. In his case, his first failure. No wonder why he was gloomy. No wonder why he felt the same way when Lewis got hit last night. The feel of letting one man down was discomforting. McCarran takes it very seriously.

"You should bury it, Turner. With these guys. I think he desperately needs to play poker with them." Hugh gave a bitter laugh.

This war caused much change for us that fast. It only took one night to see many few lose their lives. And now, it took a few more to complement for the day.

Then, I suddenly began thinking about Gretchen. Perhaps this was one of the things she was talking about; the risk of dying. Wasting my life for the both of us.

"They're here! Lieutenant Speyer's here!" A shout was heard from the distance.

We all stood up and ran towards the ruined fences and sandbags in the edge of town. The car was moving past the derelict Tiger Tank and half-tracks across the field afar; following the swerving road in front of it. It soon arrived at the sentry. The Lieutenant seems to have something very important to say; a bit of smile was strewn from his face.

Captain Collins came to meet with Lieutenant Speyer's group.

"What's the news Lieutenant?"

He got out; a bit panting because of exhaustion, until he finally spoke out.

"They're coming."

"Who?"

He smiled. "Care to take a guess?"

He brought a fresh bottle of whisky, Blended American. With it is a box of supplies; patented in dark initials "US ARMY". Cheers and joy began to smile from their faces.

"They just hooked up with the Airborne guys at Foucarville up north."

"Alright!" others cheered.

"They certainly took their sweet time!"

It had been a tiring day. And now our buddies at the beaches are finally meeting up with us. The Longest Day was over at last. My voice joined their roars for joy. In the end, I was happy to have earned my rest.

* * *

-TO BE CONTINUED- 


	10. Can't Tell

**CHAPTER 9** "Can't Tell"

* * *

_06/07/44_

_6th entry_

_It has been 4 days since we've fought on Foucarville and Beuzeville-au-Plain. Yesterday, Captain Collins has managed to make contact with the rest of Able who were scattered all over Normandy in the night of June 6. All of us moved to this town of Ste. Mere-Eglise to rally with them. Boys from the 82nd captured this village days ago during that fateful night. And now, many had converged here for their R and also to prepare for the actions ahead for the rest of the Normandy Campaign, as Sergeant Donnelly demanded. _

_Lieutenant Speyer departed when the rest of the fellows from Dog Company met up with us at Beuzeville; almost at the same time when those Infantry guys from Utah relieved us. So are the rest of the non-Able Company men who tagged along with us. _

_And I forgot to return his pencil. _

_Right now, it's all sleep and rest for us. Until we receive new others from Battalion HQ of course…_

* * *

D-Day plus 1, Village of Ste. Mere-Eglise, Normandy; France, 1401 Hours

Temporary Company Headquarters; Able Company, 506th Parachute Regiment; 101st Airborne Division

* * *

I managed to get some sleep. A complete one. Finally. And I'm not talking about the kind of sleep in which one eye must be left open. No. I stretched out this morning. I regained much of my strength, typical in greeting a fresh new day. But even though I felt rested enough, I wasn't looking forward for any orders. Though I know they will come sooner or later.

It was already afternoon. What to do today…

Nothing much. Again. I played some poker with McCarran and O'Shea and with some guys from the 82nd. Yes, both 101st and 82nd had intermingled today. The streets of Ste. Mere-Eglise were exuberant with the variety of American faces walking around; mostly doing nothing "official". The poker game I had was less enjoyable, however. A poker without Clyde was not as lively as it was supposed to be. I kept seeing an Ace of Hearts on the deck of cards; shuffled again and again after each game.

Rosenbaum was messing up with the radio again. He was in a church together with his platoon; listening to BBC and all.

Right now, I found myself playing chess with O'Shea inside a local shop. Funny. We were using a chessboard care of the Germans. It seemed old though. Berlin-made. 1934 vintage.

Some pieces were absent. I used 3 bottle caps for the missing Pawns. An empty rifle casing for my Queen.

"When will you stop castling, David?" I asked.

It was already our 3rd game. 2 to nothing. That castling tactic he kept on using keeps winning him the game, as I've noticed. We we're playing for 30 minutes now. But time seems to snail like an hour or two. I don't really care though…

"It's called 'strategy', Robert! Just shut up and play!"

It was my turn. A black Pawn was moved to D9.

"You sure aren't getting tired with this game…" O'Shea sighed.

Qxb5.

A white Queen took a piece at B5.

"What!" I didn't saw that coming.

"Heh. Checkmate, yet again…"

The King was cornered immediately.

Now, 3 to nothing. O'Shea was pretty good in this game. Damn. Of course he should be. That New Yorker smile of his keeps pissing me off. I hate it when I lose.

"That's it! I'm out of here!" I stood up.

"Go ahead. Anyway, I'm tired of sitting my ass all day just for this."

"Where're you going?" I asked. He began to grab his helmet.

"To the bar down the street over there. I'll get something to drink. Wanna come?"

"Yeah."

There was nothing left to do anyway. All our fire seems to have been extinguished. Nothing seems to rekindle them. Ironically as it seems, David and I were down today amidst the supposed joys and laughter we should have been sharing with the rest.

Picking up our gear, we made a walk down the lane towards the saloon. A couple of Airborne guys were there; also drinking the time away. Tables were a bit dusty. Some chairs resting on top of them. Only the sun illuminated the seemingly abandoned place.

We went to the counter. We scanned for some whisky or wine. But we couldn't find what we're looking for. Every bottle was written in French. And it looked like some had been looted earlier; gaping empty spaces between supposedly close groups of wine and liqueur gave us that hunch.

O'Shea got a bottle; I recognized the word 'cognac' in its incomprehensive label.

"You wouldn't want that, David." I bid him.

"Really? Can you suggest anything aside from French brandy?"

How did he know that it was EVEN a brandy?

"Well if you find a Scotch; I'd really would bang the gavel for that." I said.

But there was none. Yeah. I'd better get myself ready for another sip of "Normandy-brandy". Tastes like crap…

We brought out a few cups. I pulled the cork out with a knife. As it got off, the smell of cherry water nuzzled in my nose. It was an aroma that's getting familiar to me. Though, I hated this stuff; I sat down with O'Shea on the table. We started to pour.

It was funny, the sound of the distilled spirits rushing down the glass reminded me of the drink I had with my Dad; that family reunion on Saturday night. Reminded me of home. Also, reminded me of Gretchen…

Gretchen…

It was hard to set aside reality for once, when you're a hundred miles away from her. But I wanted to. Reminiscence was perhaps the most reasonable thing I could do for now…

I've been out here for just a few days. Yet, I couldn't help but to miss the comforts, joys and memories of home. I don't know what day it was today; really. Maybe it's just me. Looking at my calendar seems to be synonymous with tracking down the last days of my life; how long will I last before this war's over. But if it was a Sunday; I would picture Mom and Dad going to Grandma's house in Missouri. A Saturday, then it is Gretchen's day-off. I do hope she is fine today. I'd like to see her hazel eyes again after I'm done with this tour of duty.

I frowned. Now I know what war is like. So nostalgic.

I'll be damned if I found myself joining up once more in the years to come.

So far away from home.

But little did I know that a chance like that will never be given to me.

Ever…

Today was the perfect time for me to soul-search; the effects of the cognac began to knock to my door. My mind was blanking out a bit; the water was seemingly slowly seeping into the depths of my brain. As if a letter was given to me by God to answer his call; to see myself.

Something blinked into my head.

Oh yeah. I forgot about that.

I took out my diary. I didn't mind O'Shea's stares at me as I fumble with my bag. The red notebook inscribed with a bronze "Property of R.L. Turner." Nothing to write down, though.

Slid between the last two pages were the letters. Memos, greetings, Christmas cards, all my mail was cramped there. I haven't read some of them, though. Among them was the one most recent letter I received last May. The one final letter from Gretchen. Though it was already crumpled to hell, I wanted to pull it out again. I think it was a Friday last month when I thought about opening it. But Captain Collins was so strict that we should focus more on the job at hand. D-Day. It would have also aroused suspicion; since all 176,000 men of the invasion force was denied of contact to the outside. Reading it might put my ass on the line again.

Something like "Incompetence to follow direct orders from the unit's commanding officer" thing.

I took it out and unfolded it. This was the first time I will read this letter. It was dated January 7, 1944.

…

"Hey, what's that?" O'Shea asked me.

I didn't listen.

* * *

_01/07/1944_

_Dear Robert,_

_How are you today? I understand that you might not reply to this one too. If counting was allowed, I'd be damn sure that this was the 99th letter I sent to the Army Mail for you. I hope nothing's wrong. Just be sure that there is a good reason for you not to answer back. _

_Remember that bank I am working on? Well, it got burnt to the ground last Saturday night. A drunken moron drenched the place with motor oil and lit it up. I think this guy's name was Arthur. The old man running the bakery down the lane? Mrs. Bailey and him had a very 'dangerous' argument as I've heard. He got caged after the police caught him. Right now, I have no job. Isn't funny? Hopefully some mothers in this town make a calling for baby-sitters. Mom's helpless without me…_

_Listen. I know for a fact that something's up with the Army. After the news of Operation: Torch reached back home, I am getting worried. Worried for you. Sounds mushy, eh? But yeah; I am. Please come back home safe. I don't know when you will be shipped to Europe. I am looking forward for a special welcome when you return. You're mom's got it thinking over. _

_Always remember that I never held anything against you. Perhaps when I said I was; I wasn't thinking straight. I hope this year's end I won't see a folded American flag in your home. _

_Take care of yourself, Robert. For me._

_Gretchen._

David noticed my silence; my eyes going about as I read the letter.

"Let me guess… it is from-"

"From Gretchen." I cut in.

"Good for you." O'Shea replied "Me? I haven't got any letters from Rose back home."

"O…that waitress girlfriend of yours?"

"Yeah."

"Hey! Maybe she's seeing another guy right under your nose and you don't even know it!" I joked.

"Heh. Well, Robert. If I knew that, next time we fight I'd gladly lead a charge straight into the krauts' line of fire; then WHAMM! Instant Hero's Welcome! She'll have second thoughts for sure."

"She would? Maybe she'll kill herself when she found out that you were sent home in a box."

Footsteps at the door.

I turned around.

"Hey! Drinking without me? That's just rude, Robert." McCarran spoke.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Just patched up a guy who fell from a truck headed here when it swerved hard down the road. Nothing you non-medics should be concerned…"

He sat down with us. I handed him a cup and he poured down. He smelled it first.

"What do you call this stuff?"

"French guys called it cognac. Their own shitty version of Blended American Whisky." I answered.

"Well, you're quite wrong there, man. This thing is made from cherry. Blended American's made from grain. Besides, this is a brandy. Not a whisky. Dumbass." O'Shea commented.

"Shut up."

Hugh saw the piece of paper held in my fingers.

"What's that?"

"This? Just another letter from my girl back home…" I quivered.

"Gretchen?"

"Yeah…"

"Heh. Lucky bastard…" He laughed.

In truth he was just hiding his envy. Amongst the 3 of us, he was the only one who doesn't have a sweetheart to go home to. He wasn't that good with women. He told to us once that he loathed girls. Too incompetent for his standards as he says. So hard to please. Actually, he was just a timid guy and he doesn't even want to admit it.

The atmosphere was silent inside the bar. The two guys we saw earlier began to leave. Just the 3 of us remained. We already finished our bottle as seconds seemed to tick by like minutes. Man. The stuff really tastes like cherry water. With dust.

"I'll get another one." O'Shea stood up.

Picture us sitting there doing nothing; staring mindlessly at anything worth our attention. McCarran was resting his eyes. He sighed as he lay back at the chair. I admit that I wasn't used to silence.

Then I thought of a stupid question just to break our numbness. The cognac really slowly trickling into my thinking.

"So, what do you guys think of this war?"

"What?"

That was odd. McCarran sounded as if he wasn't surprised about my words speaking out such a query constructed in a mindless manner only because I was a bit drunk.

"You saw what happened yesterday." I continued, "I bet that was just an appetizer for a really terrible main course…"

"Yeah…just one day…then Clyde's dead, Gallagher's dead, Ambrose's dead, Murphy's dead…"

Those were the names of the people who were with our platoon. Only these persons never saw tomorrow.

"It doesn't seem to end, does it?" O'Shea spoke, coming back with 2 more bottles.

"Yeah."

"I was just wondering, how many more people will get killed once this war's over?" I asked to them, though I wasn't looking forward for some answers.

"Dunno. Maybe 4, 5, 6 thousand more? Only God knows how many…" O'Shea replied.

"Was that something you can read on the Bible, priest?" McCarran smirked.

"Can't tell, my 'Jewish friend'." He sighed. "Can't tell."

"It's a cruel world, Hugh. Past, present and future." O'Shea continued. "That's why I can't tell."

"…"

But the reason why is pretty simple. Old men wage wars; yet it is the youth who must fight and die.

"None of that matters from here." McCarran opened up the other bottle. "Let me ask you, David. Since you're the only 'friar' here, can you say that killing is a sin?"

"Yeah. In every single way." O'Shea replied. "Come to think of it, this war made us 'sinners'." He began to laugh.

"So what're we doing is wrong?" I asked. My voice was half-hearted.

"Perhaps the only thing wrong for once in our lives." He murmured.

"…"

"Come to think of it. I grew up in a Catholic house-hold and I find myself here; killing people…"

"But it's not your fault, David." McCarran remarked. "You said that this world is a cruel one. Then that means there should be no good guys."

"I guess…"

"I think that's just a reason for us not to go to heaven, huh?" I spoke.

He gave us our cups, already filled with wine.

I began to wonder if what I was doing was really wrong. If this was the thing Gretchen told me before; the thing that kept me "wasting my life for the both of us." But why me? Why would I? Why could I? Was the eagerness to serve my country and make my family proud nothing more than a worthless goal or a fleeting dream? Or in Gretchen's terms; another macho-trip?

Damn.

I wanted answers, yet these gave me more questions.

Days like this drive me into questioning my own soul. We were all done quickly. Leaving emptied bottles and cups, we stood up and left. I stepped out; sighing. We were back to duty. Back to the harsh reality of it all…

I'll find out someday. How harsh the world really is…

* * *

-TO BE CONTINUED- 


	11. The Truth About Heroes

**CHAPTER 10 **"The Truth About Heroes"

* * *

June 8, 1944 (D-Day plus 2); Somewhere in the outskirts of Ste. Come-du-Mont, Normandy; France

1530 Hours

* * *

Yup, another day. Another task to be done.

First off, I don't even know who volunteered us to conduct a patrol…

Earlier today, I heard that elements of the 506th Parachute Regiment under the command of one Colonel Sink was to mount an attack against the German garrison here at Ste. Come-du-Mont; a mile south east from Ste. Mari-du-Mont. 2 more battalions would attack from the east; en route from Beaumont. And at the centre; elements of the 501st Regiment stationed north of les Driones would precede the attack.

Heh. Uttering those French names was getting me tongue-tied.

Anyway. The attack was to be initiated at dawn. 4:45 AM to be exact. And it did. My company took part of it. It was still underway, though. Until noon. Able Company was placed on reserve throughout the morning; providing supporting fire with mortars. Even though we couldn't see the events unfold, I could here from the distance the zinging of machinegun fire and the ever familiar roars of artillery. Our attack was fierce. Then I heard that the enemy had begun to withdraw.

That's where we come in.

Our patrol was designed to be swift. Only 3 people. I was in a jeep, O'Shea on the wheels. Rosenbaum was manning the radio. We were told that we are to move ahead and oversee the town of Ste. Come-du-Mont; see if the enemy had fully withdrawn. They were taking quite a beating ever since the morning. Already 4 of their counter-attacks were repulsed.

Just by the road and amidst a smouldering Panzer tank beside us; I took out my binoculars and gave a look. The town was visible from our distance, with smoke already billowing because of the barrages we inflicted upon the Germans there earlier this day. It was bordered with fences and a few electrical lines tower from the houses; typical French layout for a rural settlement.

I looked away and focused on the surrounding area. Welcoming the highway towards this town was a church; a couple of houses were outside the town as well. Cabbage patches were sprinkled about.

"The place looks empty. Quiet." I said.

I peered harder. I saw a few German soldiers emerging from one of the houses, clad in a familiar dark uniform, hauling a wagon carrying dozens of bags; equipment. A half-track towed the cart. They began to depart. To where, I don't know. But they made their way into the town. Soon they disappeared from my sight as they moved further.

I grinned. The brass was right. They're turning their tails and running.

It was time to relay back the information we had.

"Dieter. Send back to Command that the enemy has begun to withdraw from the village access."

"_Javol!" _("I hear you!")

He then turned to his radio, tuning the dials as he picked up the receiver.

But something gave me a hunch. Maybe they were just mocking a retreat so that they could fall back into a place of their advantage; while we fall for it and go in pursuit and get slaughtered. The Germans have a knack to utilize that tactic well.

Anyway, we were already in a position to do something about that; exposing their scheme once friendlies come in.

"We should take a closer look. Maybe they were just prepping up in a more defensible position."

"Got it."

I sat back at the jeep. O'Shea turned on the ignition; then the vehicle began to rumble. Rumbling. Rumbling. Then it stopped. The engine died down.

"Holy shit!" O'Shea cursed.

"Turn it up again." I bid him.

He tried once more. The jeep was coughing. Still it wouldn't start.

"Shit! It ain't moving!"

The hood was fuming. It was overheated.

"Damn! They said that this jeep was in good condition!" O'Shea remarked.

"Keep trying dammit!"

He turned it up again. Still it didn't budge.

"Let me take a look." I sighed.

I stood up and went my way to the front. I opened the engine compartment; hot smoke began to billow right in front my face. Shit! I coughed out. The jeep was really hot under the collar. I grabbed a water container. I hastily poured water all over the engine. It sizzled; water meeting with heat. It cooled down; and I was optimistic to say that this time it'll work.

"Hit it again!"

Another turn to the ignition. It rumbled. Shook. Then a mechanical whirr. Stepping into the accelerator, the vehicle roared.

"I got it! I got it!"

"Let's go! Rosenbaum get in!" I jumped in.

We started to make our way towards the curve in front of us. Turned left. We drove away from the road and we went right into the hedgerows; hoping these would cover us as we moved even further towards the town. The ground was uneven, however. We had bumps with unseen stones and thick bushes. O'Shea drove slower.

"Bad idea, eh?"

"Let's get back to the road, David!"

It only took a while for us to get into the clearing; flat ground awaited us out of the bushes.

Soon we drove near the houses outside of the town; where I saw the German soldiers moving out earlier. Beside these was a steep embankment bordered with fences. We stopped the jeep.

"The place is too quiet."

I was about to step out. Our eyes were scanning every direction, especially the town itself; assessing anything that could be a threat.

And we missed one.

BANG!

It was a gunshot. Came out of nowhere.

"Shit! Sniper!" I jumped back in.

Suddenly, part of the windshield was shattered. A bullet hole was gaping; cracks resembling the intensity of the shot. We panicked just like that.

"O my God!"

"Let's get out of here!" I screamed.

We got contact. We started the vehicle again. Pressured and frightened, O'Shea was wildly turning the steering wheel; banking the jeep to right until we headed down the canal beside us, breaking the fence in the process. We ran down as fast as we can as the vehicle stopped. I could only picture the sniper's crosshairs already zeroing in on one of us. It gave me the creeps.

BANG!

A second shot.

It had hit the grass below our feet, inches between my leg and the thicket. I could estimate the shooter some 50 metres away from us.

"Everyone get down!" O'Shea barked out.

We huddled close behind the jeep, hoping that its enough to keep us covered from the sniper. I slid down with them.

"Anybody hit?" That was the first question I asked.

They shook their heads. No, they're fine.

"I think I saw the flash." Rosenbaum said to us. "Up there in the bell tower. In the church."

I looked back. That was about 20 feet away from our immediate position. The sniper's shots are crossed to us. Damn. I wished that Lieutenant Speyer was here. He could think out a way out of this predicament. Right now we were sitting ducks. The sniper was nowhere to be seen.

BANG!

A third shot.

I ducked down, without me being able to catch the muzzle flash. This time it had shattered the left strobe light of the jeep; it just missed my head. By centimetres. It ricocheted into the ground.

"Shit!" I cursed again.

I've been close to death several times already. But a call like that was really getting too uncomfortable. I was sweating hard. Damn. I almost got hit right there. Now I assumed it was time to do something. We stay here; the sniper will eventually pick us all off.

An idea blinked into my head. There was a tree in our right.

Maybe if we could…

BANG!

A fourth shot.

It had missed us entirely though. The sniper was getting too excited.

"That's 4 shots. One more and he's all out." O'Shea spoke.

"Listen guys. I'll run ahead towards that tree. I'll bait him out of his nest. When he comes out to shoot, nab him!" I ordered.

I began to remove my bandoleers and the rest of my gear; saving me up some weight when I run.

"No way! You serious?"

"You're going to get yourself killed." Rosenbaum remarked.

"I know. But what can I say?"

"Don't be a hero! The last thing we all want is somebody dead in a patrol."

"Just focus and shoot that asshole, OK?"

They were hesitant. It was a risky plan. But they could have thought anything aside from that. Anyway it was better than getting shot without doing something.

Dieter tapped me in the back. "Hey, Turner. _Viel Gluk…" _

"Now what does that mean Rosenbaum?" I frowned.

"German for 'good luck'. I think you're gonna need it." He grinned.

We were all set in no time. Their rifles cocked and armed. Me myself unarmed. Only my binoculars with me. I was going to run towards that tree in our right; hopefully hidden from the sniper's line of fire if I did; consequently making him pop out so that David and Dieter can get him out from his hiding spot. I took a deep breath. I was sweating. Yet I tried to focus on the task at hand.

Heh. I forgot to pray.

"You guys ready?"

"Ready when you are." O'Shea replied

I didn't mind to wait for the last shot. I crouched.

"OK on 3! One…two…three!" Then I dashed forward, sprinting as fast as I can.

BANG!

The fifth shot.

It had hardly hit me. But it sounded close. I swear I could feel the bullet zipping past my shoulder. A trail of heat went by my skin. The sound of cloth being sliced got me the scare. I ducked down the moment I was already near the tree. I thought by then that I was hit.

The sniper's firing generated a flash. O'Shea was able to point it out.

"I see him! Open fire!"

They shot at the shooter's direction. The let loose 8 rounds all in all.

"Got him!"

I raised my head up to look at the bell tower. I was shaking. My heart kept on pounding. I dared to bring up my binoculars. Nobody was there. I'd be damn sure that he's dead.

"You OK Robert?" He gave me my rifle.

"Yeah…barely hit me but I'm fine…"

We all took a deep breath. That was fast. Heart-racing. I stood up, the 10 second tension still fresh in my head. I suddenly felt that my shoulder stings. My skin burns quite a bit. The shot with my name on it missed me, but it did give a scratch.

"Let's go. We aren't finished, yet."

O'Shea and Rosenbaum began went back to the jeep. We were getting ready to move out again. The patrol wasn't done yet.

After all that, it's like business as usual.

It was the first time I felt a bullet touch me. Even if it didn't really harmed me. That moment was surely hard to forget.

"Damn…that guy was REALLY aiming at me…" I murmured.

"TURNER! LOOK OUT!"

It was David. He yelled at me. I turned to him. He was pointing something; in my direction. I turned around.

"Holy shit!" I cursed.

It was a German, out of nowhere, emerging from his covers; in the hedgerows right beside us. A Wermacht soldier clad a bit in camouflage. The square-like helmet was the first thing that made me recognize him as a hostile. And he was just 3 metres from me; aiming his gun at my face. An MP40 right at me.

And he was charging.

Then it was something strange. Seconds slugged around me. Tension. As if my heart and breathing ceased. But I wasn't savouring this moment. I found myself mindlessly gripping my rifle and hoisting it up my arms. But back then, I wasn't thinking. I was in awe. A German, right in front of me; just popped, up close and personal for God's sake. I was terrified. This guy was going to kill me.

I hesitated. Time froze. Like a picture-perfect scene. I was lifeless. Motionless. A reflection of what could happen to me. But I gave myself a mental punch to the face. No. I can't die. I stared at the German's finger; already ready to pull the trigger. I managed to beat him.

BANG!

It was a quick-draw. I fired. I shot him. Just one round, planted to his chest.

The gunfire catapulted me back. Back from the time lapse. I blinked.

"O my God!"

With my senses back, I was surprised at the sudden turn of events. My eyes were wide.

I shot him. The German gasped. His eyes shot wide open. He limped as he fell down, staggering into the ground; falling forward because of the bit of speed he had made when he charged to me. He was lying flat at his back; his eyes staring out into the sky. And in that moment, I knew he was dead. His skin was pale in an instant; the blood from his chest grew bigger.

BANG!

Fuck! What the hell I just did?

I fired again. This time, it chipped at his shoulder. Skin, tissue and clothing splotched from the impact; staining the grass with a red spray. I don't know why I did it. I tried to calm down. But like the fallen right before me, my eyes were wide. I was sweating. Beading at my forehead. I was breathing hard as my heart continued to throb. It just happened so damn fast.

My finger was still shaking at trigger. I was still eager to fight. Come on! Stand up! Stand up! You bastard!

"Robert!" O'Shea ran towards me.

I managed to calm down, a bit. My face frowned as I went towards the fallen man. I was cautious in my steps; knowing that another surprise might happen. My shots would have not yet killed him. But my conscience kept clanging my bell. He's dead! Calm down Robert! Yet the attitude towards hostility clouded my thoughts. Even though the German dead before me was lifeless, I still aimed at him. This time at his head. I was anticipating another sign of movement, I was in tension.

"Robert?"

But soon my breathing returned to normal. All the feeling was gone. I took a deep sigh. Collecting my thoughts, I realized I just survived an attack that could have ended my life. I glanced closer to the aftermath of everything. Then I turned to soldier I killed.

For the first time, I was eager to see the face of my kill; of a German whom I overcome.

I wanted a closer look.

"Jesus!" I yelped.

I was stricken.

He wasn't like any German grunt I faced.

No.

…

He was a kid.

"Turner!" Rosenbaum shouted. He ran towards me.

I didn't budge.

"_Shise! _It's just a boy!" He turned to me, "Are you alright, Robert?"

It was a teenager. A lad. For God's sake! I just killed a kid…

My mind squeezed shut. I was left staring at the corpse of that young fellow.

"Are you OK?" Rosenbaum asked again.

There is a difference between a kill and a murder. I knew that. But it was hard to classify what I did. I just ended a young man's life. A 16 year old. I began to weep. No. I shouldn't. Anguish began to form in my face. I tried to wipe it off with my hands. Those guilty hands.

O'Shea tapped my back. Rosenbaum ran back to the jeep to get the radio; call in the rest of the regiments that it is clear to move in towards the town.

He began to call out. I could hear him. But his voices faded in my mind. The only word I could hear was a monotonous one. And it kept echoing throughout my brain. Throughout my conscience. It kept calling me "Murderer…"

Was it guilt?

O'Shea was right. The world is a cruel place. There are no such things as good guys.

Funny as hell, this is the truth about heroes.

There are none.

The sun set with guilt in my face. Not even the road and stares and chatter of others woke me up. Staring at my hands. I was reproaching myself. What have I done?

* * *

-TO BE CONTINUED- 


	12. Morality

**CHAPTER 11** "Morality"

* * *

June 10, 1944 (D-Day plus 4); Douve River Crossing, Outside Carentan, Normandy; France

1930 Hours; Evening

* * *

_06/10/44_

_8th entry_

_The 506th and 501st made quite a show last night. The capture of Ste. Come-du-Mont had finally completed one of our objects in D-Day; which was to capture the Douve River. The guys from Able are cooped up here in the Douve Crossing; designated as Bridge #2. I heard that this bridge was demolished earlier by the krauts. But our engineers have already worked it up. Right now Command has begun to make preparations for our sweep further south; especially the town of Carentan. Taking it will enable the Allies to unite both Utah and Omaha Beachheads; both the VII and the V Corps. _

_Once we receive our orders tomorrow, I am dead sure that Able Company will bring up the front. Captain Collins said that the defenders of Carentan are quite formidable; the so-called elite 6th Fallschirmjager Regiment is stationed there he says. The paratroopers we fought on Foucarville were part of this unit._

_Surely there will be a fight ahead. I just hope it wouldn't make me kill another boy again…_

* * *

"Thanks man."

O'Shea handed me a cup of cider.

"Sorry, I couldn't find any Scotch, Robert. 'Exclusive only for the Brass' they said."

"I don't care…" I muttered.

"Just thinking. Is that really your favourite?"

"Yeah. First time's always the most memorable…"

The truth is there isn't any whisky to drink. Anything like that was denied for us. We are in the middle of a top priority military operation, says Captain Collins. No joy for the paratroops for now. Too many comforts given to us would make us feel a bit laid back; lose our focus for the task at hand.

I saw a bunch of our comrades moving out earlier this day. During the afternoon. We all knew what our next objective is. Carentan. Dog, Baker and Easy were all sent there already. Able Company was put on reserve because of the slight shortage of men that we have. However, it is a lucky break for us. Word is that we would be catching up later; when the time called it.

The distant firing and explosions were heard from afar. The guns from the 65th Artillery were waking us up. They were just a few kilometres away from our positions; bringing up supporting fire for the attack on Carentan. Their roars kept us from falling asleep; their flashes lighting up the night. But it didn't hinder us. We simply didn't care. Even though the battle was underway.

I took a sip. Funny. The cider was no different. Non-alcoholic. I grinned; the taste of apple-water trickling in my lips was a different one from that I'm used to. Reminded me of home...

Again.

I shook my head. I shouldn't be musing over the life I left behind for a few years. The life when I was naïve and young and ambitious. Hmm. Young… The grim memory of myself killing that young German guy, pointing his gun at me…

It was still damn fresh in my head.

I remembered during that day, yesterday after our patrol at dusk, Rosenbaum was ordered to search the kid for anything worth of Intelligence. I was beside him; I was looking for a bad dream back then. Turned out that the guy's name was Erich Neumann. Used to be a member of the Hitler Youth, Dieter said according to his identification tag. Born May 12, 1928…

Now he's dead, June 9, 1944.

I felt sick. Guilty. I wanted to think that it was not my fault. No such thing as murder when you're fighting in a war. But I couldn't. It was a cold-blooded kill; no matter how one would look at it. I never thought that this war would make me kill a 16-year old. Face-to-face. Truly unexpected. Like when Gretchen knew I was joining up. The thought made me think again about her.

This was perhaps that thing that she wanted me to avoid: the life of killing. But being a soldier is an honour; a call not many would take. Yet the world is full of consequences; a life of honour like this had it attached a life of bloodshed. Nobody wants this. Yet I know 176,000 others who still chose this kind of life. A life where code of ethics is just bullshit. No such thing as morality.

And do we gain something in return?

Nothing. As far as I'm concerned. Only a broken limb, a few scars, a few bad memories and some dead friends.

Clyde and Wesson were the ones who gained even more aside from that.

Gretchen was right. I should have been different. Then, I could be a manager in that bank of hers. Make sure it doesn't go up in flames. Have a few kids. Be a senator. Have a good life. I began to wonder if I'm would even make it home.

Funny.

I just realized that I was the only one acting like this.

"You're gonna eat that?" O'Shea asked.

"What?" I turned to him.

"Those pork and beans. You don't like them?"

"Wha…yeah…yeah. Later. I'm just thinking."

"Heh. For the first time, you began to think A LOT!" He joked.

"…"

It was a cold night. Echoes of distant firing whisper in our ears. I looked up; the night was awfully familiar like the one I had to live through during that faithful dawn of June 6. For the first time, I appreciated the beauty of the moon and stars sprinkled throughout the dark sky. Only because there were no anti-aircraft guns firing up into the heavens; quite like that compared to my previous memory of it.

McCarran came to us by the campfire we laid. I haven't finished my dinner yet.

"David, Robert. The Captain has something important to say to the 1st Platoon. Get your butts moving."

New orders?

"Where is he?" I asked.

"Right over there, by that house. Come on."

We stood up and went to the place. A bunch of Airborne guys were flocking towards the oil lamp lit shack of the small house. Captain Collins is there, together with Lieutenant Alderman. He was holding a map. But why just us? Sergeant Donnelly was nowhere in sight.

I suppose he is going to give us new orders. Orders for tomorrow. Or maybe tonight.

We were only a handful of men. I say about 12 guys. The rest of the 1st Platoon got either killed, captured or missing during and after the drops on D-Day. No replacements yet. What a tight spot, isn't it?

Me, O'Shea and McCarran were the last to file in with the others.

"OK. I guess everyone is here." The Captain spoke. "I better make this quick; your Sergeant Donnelly got in an accident during our operations in Ste. Come-du-Mont yesterday so I'll be briefing you ladies myself."

He began to lay out a map; a diagramming of our current situation. We all looked down; lines, arrows and circles were written all over it.

"This is our present condition gentlemen…"

"Great…" I whispered.

"As we speak; our buddies from the 401st and 327th Glider Companies have began to move in towards Carentan; tasked to flank the town from the left. The other companies from the 506th and 502nd were already there, though, and are taking quite a beating. Even though we were put on reserve I received word that Able Company should begin to move out; which means your goddamn good time is over."

"We saw that coming…" one remarked.

"At least it's better than sitting on your ass all day…"

The Captain turned to the map again.

"We will be taking the route the others took earlier today. But this time, we were tasked to support H Company of the 502nd. Apparently those German bastards had begun to open fire with Flak 88s at them."

He pointed specifically at a small circle; indicating the position.

"H Company holds the line that keeps the 506th and 502nd together. If they were routed; that line could fall and the Germans could use this as an opportunity for a counter-attack; eventually breaking our drive to Carentan considerably."

"We will be moving immediately, gentlemen." Lieutenant Alderman said to us, "We have to get past Bridge #3 at approximately 2030 Hours and then meet up with the guys from 3rd Battalion of the 502nd; right in the position of H Company."

I've heard of this unit before. 3/502nd was led by one Lieutenant Colonel Robert G. Cole.

"1st Platoon's job is to make sure they reach H Company in time. Contact their commanding officer, Captain Shettle, and tell them to move up behind the rear up here in Douve River Crossing and reinforce their positions. Since your Sarge is out; Captain Collins will be leading 1st Platoon. 2nd Platoon with me will bring up our rear."

Sounds like a one-hour trek. I should have seen this coming.

Captain Collins spoke again, "We will be encountering hostiles. Maybe not on the way, but surely once we reach H Company. Check and test your magazines; zero your sights. When they come, make sure you guys are ready."

"Yes sir!"

"Well, what the hell you ladies looking at? Move out! Hustle! Hustle!"

We scattered; tending to our things as we begin to pack everything up. My gear was stashed together with David's; by the campfire where we were eating our dinner. I wasn't able to finish it. But I hated it anyway. No lessons learned, though. I began to wonder when this prepping-up-for-a-fight-before-we-sleep routine will end.

I guess the answer is 'someday but not today'.

I noticed that my clicker has gone missing. I checked my waist pouches; nothing's there.

"Shit! I think I lost my clicker, Hugh!" I called to him.

I was a bit worried. If for any reason I got lost, I have nothing to call my comrades for help. Aside from screaming.

"Don't worry, Robert. Just stick to David and me. You'll be fine by then." He cocked his rifle.

O'Shea came to us. He brought with himself a few packs of rifle cartridges.

"Load up your clips, guys. I think we we'll be in one hell of a long vigil after tonight."

"What makes you think that?" I asked.

"Carentan is one tough nut to crack; as I heard. I bet 20 bucks that we will be fighting until tomorrow."

"Just make sure you make it until tomorrow." McCarran laughed.

"Hey! Do you even have 20 bucks with you?" I grinned.

We were all set. With the Captain's wave of the hand, we all got a move on. Boxes and crates were left behind. Oil lamps turned off. The chance to turn back and walk away has gone.

I sighed. I wanted to erase in my head all of my worries and guilt. The Company needs me to be in one piece. I asked myself to snap out of it. You have to do what you have to do. No questions asked. No emotions. War is only kill-or-be-killed. That is its only morality. If I die; I'd wish that Neumann guy would be waiting for me…

Jesus! What am I thinking…?

I have yet to see the end of this war, anyway.

I dashed with the others into the battlefield glowing just by the horizon. Our work was far from over.

* * *

-TO BE CONTINUED- 


	13. Each Other

**CHAPTER 12 **"Each Other"

* * *

Ellsworth, Kansas; 1939

Saturday

* * *

"Hey! Aren't you going to Mr. Doe's place?" George shouted out.

"I can't hear you, George!" I yelled back.

"What the hell are you doing up that water tower, Robert?"

"Cleaning the rust! I'll be done later!"

"Aren't you going to Mr. Doe's house?" Chris hollered.

"Later! I'm busy!"

They walked away.

"Whatever, man. Come on Chris, we got to get back to the farm."

"Let me guess. You're going to milk the cows?"

"And help me rake off some cow shit in the hay store. My dad's gonna kill me if I'm not done by lunch time."

"Whoa! You're not going to expect me to get my hands all shitty would you?"

"Heh. Good luck Chris!" I shouted.

"Shut up, Turner!"

Cow shit, Jesus…

Luckily, my hands won't smell once I'm done with this. It's just rust, anyway. The morning sun was scorching hot, though. The cap I was wearing wasn't enough to shield me from the heat. I brought up a towel and placed it like a shawl on my head. I was sweating already even though I had only started a few minutes ago.

They mentioned earlier about Mr. Doe. Today was a Saturday, and as usual I have to help him in his house. This time around, however, I'm supposed to help him carry the boxes stashed at his backyard and drive them into town. Probably he's going to deliver them. But I didn't even know what on earth is inside them.

Honestly, I began to have suspicions to the kind old man. He's been acting strange lately. He drives his car out almost every night; only to return tomorrow morning. He doesn't even come out from his home anymore. And he's been doing this since last week.

I remembered that last week, when I read the newspaper, that cops in Chicago had just confiscated a warehouse worth of illegal firearms and bootlegs. Investigators believed that the place was used as storage by the mafia during the 20's; forgotten and abandoned when the syndicates were counting their days. Yet they found out that some had just been delivered recently. Their records show that a handful of these were ordered from Florida, New Jersey, Wisconsin and Kansas.

Mr. Doe said to me that he has a little problem with the bank downtown. Ironically, it was the same bank in which Gretchen was planning to go to work to. Other than that, he said nothing more. My dad, already suspicious of him, assumed that the old man had a dispute with his loans and interest. Quite common for some folks in this neighbourhood. Maybe the guy's gone broke.

I shook my head. Why would I be thinking like this?

I have respects for the old man. Mr. Doe helped me from becoming a bum the past months. Yet, I was becoming doubtful of him.

Funny.

The problem of deducing someone of a crime is that when it started, it is awfully hard to stop. I know that first impressions last; but having a sudden twist of acting could lead to something. Still, I wasn't supposed to suspect Mr. Doe of anything wrong. Still, I put my trust in him; just like as I would if I'm stranded in an island with only a handful of people to talk to.

* * *

June 11, 1944 (D-Day plus 5); Madeleine River Crossing, outside Carentan, Normandy; France

0620 Hours

* * *

They were shooting at us. The Germans on the other side of the river were trying to fend us off. Across Madeleine River is a small cluster of trees divided by the road that Bridge #3 led to. The krauts were there. Earlier last night, they threw everything at us. Mortars and Flak 88s. But today, it's quite odd. They were taking puck shots. Rifles only. Hmm.

"This is Able Company calling to Six-Seven. Able Company to Six-Seven. Do you read? Over."

"Try it again, Rosenbaum…" I bid him.

"Able Company calling to Six-Seven. We need immediate artillery support in our position. Do you read?"

Nobody was calling back. The faint buffering of the radio indicated no response.

Damn.

"_Shise. _They aren't responding, Robert. Damn them!"

Looks like we have no such thing as luck this morning. Dieter has been calling out in that radio of his for an hour now.

"Just keep calling. I'll go back to Captain Collins; tell him that the 67th isn't answering."

"_Javol. _Remember to stay in the ditch and keep your head down. They got snipers out there."

"Yeah. Yeah. Don't remind me…"

I made my way across the trench. Just as Dieter said. Paratroopers were huddled across the rise; keeping them covered from the Germans on the other side of the river; already trying to pick us off with rifles. Quick shots from them only hit our covers. Gunshots were synchronized with bullet ricochets at our position. Nobody from us even dared to shoot back. Except for a few guys earlier.

They're dead now.

Captain Collins was there, near a few paratroopers tending to their radio.

"No response from 67 sir." I reported. "Nobody is calling back. Rosenbaum is still trying, though."

"Goddamn!" he cursed "Jacobs, anything?"

"No sir. Can't get an answer from them either."

"Keep trying. The Germans got their shots criss-crossed to us. We can't soften them up with artillery then we ain't moving on from here. Any word from the 502nd?"

"Nothing. Their radio must be down, sir."

What a predicament. Today is probably a stalemate. After all we've done last night?

Last night we were able to reach H Company, amidst bullets ringing our ears. But the situation was worse than we thought. Their immediate support, Fox Company, is also under heavy fire. They were forced to pull out as well, leaving a large line on the brink of breaking just for us to handle. The Germans let loose with MG-42s; two of ours got killed. Captain Collins was forced to spread us too thin. 1st Platoon on the right bank, 2nd Platoon on the left. We maintained that position up till today; up till morning.

Behind us is an assortment of paratroopers from the 506th. The 502nd is a few kilometres away from our immediate position. Other than them, we have nobody left to help us out. The 327th and 401st Glider Companies were told to flank Carentan from the left as I heard; with the 501st as their support. Yet all attack groups made no further advances. O'Shea was right. Carentan was one tough nut to crack.

To make it even worse, we have no artillery, air or tank support whatsoever. And we are taking quite a beating. For 2 hours now. Help would come later in the day, as Command had stated.

But there is still hope. From a distance, a volley of mortars was fired. Not at us. But at the krauts on the other side. We all turned our heads. It was from B Company. An idea blinked in the Captain's head.

"What about the mortars from Baker Company? Can you call them, Turner?"

Oh yeah. I forgot about them…

"I'll tell Rosenbaum, sir."

"Good. Jacobs, keep tuning in to Six-Seven and contact them if they answer."

I returned to Dieter, we were only 10 men apart. Bullets keep zipping past my head. Rosenbaum was there. Still keeping his head down, still busy dialling the tuners on the radio. His eyes were still focused. Any sort of distraction would not make him to budge. Kind of weird for a German guy like him. I thought krauts always get paranoid even in a situation like this.

As I came to him, he noticed my presence in an instant.

"New orders?" he asked.

"Turn up to the frequency of B Company. Tell them to have their mortars redirected to fire at the other side of our position. You go do it now."

"Hey. What about coordinates?"

"What?" I frowned.

"Coordinates! Enemy coordinates!"

"You're the radioman. It's your call." I replied.

"Hey! You won't expect me to expose my head just to take a peek at their position, would you?"

"Fine. I'll do it." I sighed.

When you're in a group, you have to make a contribution. Even if it is a risky one. But hell, everything everyone does here in Able Company has always had risks. Yet they are all counting on you. On me, in this case. After all, in a war the only people you can trust is you, God and the each other.

"You'll be fine, Robert. Trust me!

I crawled up; making sure that any part of my body wouldn't pose as a target for the Germans on the other side of the river, even though they themselves were already taking cheap shots at us. I brought up my binoculars. I used landmarks to pinpoint the exact location. I called back.

"Coordinates: zero-one-six-eight at nine-zero; bearing 20 degrees; dog-three."

BANG!

Gunshot. I saw the flash. They caught me. I ducked down immediately. The bullet came at inches in my head.

"Shit!" I cursed.

It scared me. Another close call. How many near-death experiences would I have to endure?

I ran back down.

"You got that, Dieter?" My breath heaving.

"Yeah."

"Well, make sure you did. I won't do it again for your ass next time!"

A whistling sound.

BOOM!

A shell landed 50 feet from us.

"Call them quick! The Germans are using their artillery again." I bid him.

He nodded. Dieter began to turn the dials.

O'Shea came to me.

"Anything yet?" He asked.

"No. But Rosenbaum over here is trying to make contact with Baker Company for mortar back-up."

"They certainly taking a while."

"Yeah…"

"Hey Turner! Where's my 20 bucks?" He grinned.

"Come on David! I didn't even agree on that bet of yours!"

"Whoa! Don't lie to me now!"

A shower of mortars fired from the distance. A second later they came down whistling, as they bombarded the trees on the other side. The crunches of wood, stone and earth braking apart. By then, I knew that the Germans didn't see that coming. The barrage was a quick one; but enough to disorient them a bit and keep their heads down.

"That's our cue! Saddle up, guys! Move out!" Captain Collins ordered.

With that, all of us stood up; running towards the bridge as the smoke came billowing before us. We were firing wildly; growling like a legion of Romans charging at the hated Carthage.

"Alright, let's go!"

"20 bucks, Robert! You owe me, you hear!"

"Just be sure you're alive once this is all over!" I smirked.

The battle was just beginning anyway. Now we were about to take the fight to them.

"This is Able Company! Enemy contact at Bridge #4 currently engaged. Requesting Dog Company to reinforce our lines. A Company is moving up front. Repeat. Able Company is moving up front!"

* * *

-TO BE CONTINUED- 


	14. Odds Against Us

**CHAPTER 13 **"Odds Against Us"

* * *

June 11, 1944 (D-Day plus 5); Past Bridge #4, outside Carentan, Normandy; France

1100 Hours

* * *

"What does that look like to you?" Captain Collins asked.

"Looks like an MG-42; second floor window, up that house over there. I say 5 Germans inside."

"Any suggestions, Lieutenant?"

"Flank it on their left, draw enemy fire from here. Storm the house and kill everything that moves, sir."

"Let's just hope that's not as suicidal as it sounds…" He smirked.

"There isn't anything in our line of work that isn't suicidal, sir." Lieutenant Alderman replied.

The Captain went back to us. We were huddled by a wooden fence bordering a house. Before us is a cabbage patch and a house beside it; the enemy is there. We were just 8 guys. Including the Captain himself.

The fighting in Carentan is taking place as we waited for orders from him. The 502nd was leading the charge. Though we are a few kilometres from the town itself; right now we have to deal with the farms and grasslands that the Germans are in. Paratroopers are everywhere, running forward even from a distance. No one seems to be taking one step backwards, though. We were all quite eager to take this town as quickly as possible. We take Carentan; the drive out of Normandy will be taken over by the VII Corps.

But if we don't and took a little longer, the soldiers from the beaches would have wasted so much time. The Germans by then would have called in already reinforcements from the Calais region; truly making the odds against us.

"OK guys, listen up. There is a machine gun nest up that house over there. Martin, Jacobs and Kessler; you people with me and we'll draw their fire. Turner, O'Shea and McCarran; go with Alderman, move in position, flank it and clear that house."

"Got it."

"Yes, sir."

"Keep your heads down as you go. Assume your places! Now!"

We nodded. I crept up with Hugh and David. The Lieutenant was just over the fence. We made our way to the other fence bordering the road; hoping it was wide enough to cover our heads.

Then, without a warning, the Germans fired. A long stream of bullets shot at the Captain's group.

"Get down! Jacobs, get your head down!"

I didn't dare to look back. We kept moving at the Lieutenant's pace. Captain Collins was yelling. But my mind closed out his words; ordering the rest of us to move in position. I just followed Lieutenant Alderman as we made our way near the house; crouching as we go.

"Our Father, who art in heaven…" O'Shea mumbled.

"Don't get too excited now, David." McCarran told him.

"Yeah. Besides, God is busy. This is on you." I smirked.

"I'm just…nervous man…You sure we're going to flank that spot?"

It was actually his first time to take part in an advancing party. His first time to be part of the spearhead of things. I laughed in my mind that he was chickening out already.

"Stay low, men! We need to get to that house without the krauts seeing us." The Lieutenant bid us.

I turned around; Captain Collins' group moved up into the house behind us. I couldn't see where the others are, but I was damn sure that it was his arm that I was seeing. At the second floor window. He was the only one holding a Thompson. But he was cautious, though. His gun wasn't poking outside of the window. A precaution so that the Germans on the other side of the field wouldn't see where the shots are coming from.

Soon he fired; a volley of rounds against the machine gun nest. His shooting was followed by rifle rounds all crossed against the MG-42 on the house from afar. They laid down covering fire, so that the enemy wouldn't mind us creeping at their flank.

Their firing was ferocious. The Germans inside the house could do nothing but stop shooting and keep their heads down as well.

"Keep moving! Go! Go!"

Soon, we were already past the enemy's line of sight. We stood up as we huddled near the doorstep. Lieutenant Alderman told us to stay back. He pulled out a grenade from his pocket.

He pulled the pin; the grenade smoking as the fuse began to slowly light up the TNT inside of it.

"Fire in the hole!" He yelled.

He threw it into the window. We all ducked down. We heard the grenade tumble inside the room. Soon, there came the screams.

"Granate! Granate!"

BOOM!

The window was shattered immediately; shrapnel was ricocheting inside. Smoke began to fume out from the windowpane. We stood up and went by the door.

"It's locked!" McCarran said.

He gave it a quick kick. The door went down immediately as the lock broke; Lieutenant Alderman went in first as we followed him inside. We were in the dining room. A table is there with a few chairs and cupboards around. The door beside the room led to the living room.

"GO! GO! GO!"

We opened it. What befell in front of us was a mess. This was the room where the grenade went off.

"Shit!"

I glanced at the strewn remains of a German soldier, his body partly withered because of the explosion.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

3 shots came from McCarran's rifle. I turned around. A German falling down dead as he came out of the living room.

"Upstairs! Go!"

That was where the MG-42 was nested.

"Stand back!" Lieutenant Alderman bid us.

He brought out another grenade. He pulled the pin and threw it up, landing at the floor directly above us. We moved away from the living room; the shrapnel might go through the wooden planks of the second floor and indirectly hit us. I could hear the grenade's metallic bouncing, like a plastic figurine falling from the table it is sitting on.

BOOM!

The explosion was followed by screams.

The room above was shaken as smoke billowed throughout.

"Move up!"

Lieutenant Alderman took the lead and went up first. We followed him. The second floor was a bed room; glass splinters and wooden remains were charred by heat and shrapnel; as well as 3 German soldiers dead, emaciated like their fallen comrades at the floor below.

The MG-42 was there, as well as some ammunition boxes and spent casings and cartridge links.

We scanned the place. No more signs of life, aside from ours.

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

"Clear over here, Lieutenant."

We all sighed. Lieutenant Alderman peered outside the window gave a thumbs up to the other house. Captain Collins and the rest were there. I looked out as well. The Captain waved out his hand; confirming that it is all clear. He then left the window, assuming he would gather the others and make their way to this house.

The Lieutenant went to us.

"Good job guys. Let's move outside and assemble with the Captain."

"Excellent work, Lieutenant. Job well done." Captain Collins applauded us.

I noticed that they were two men less.

"Kessler has been hit pretty badly. Martin stayed behind with him. McCarran, take O'Shea and see if you can patch him up. He's in the bedroom upstairs."

"Yes sir. Come on, David."

"Where do we go from here, Captain?" I asked.

"We'll stay behind. We need to regroup with 2nd Platoon and bring up the rear. The 502nd is already nearing the town of Carentan anyway. We'll just let them do the job for us."

Come to think of it, we only just advanced by 2 kilometres. The bulk of the paratroopers are probably half a mile away. I could tell by the firing I kept hearing from the distance.

"Any word from Sergeant Spears, Lieutenant?" the Captain asked.

"Regiment Command told them to help reinforce Bridge #4, with the elements of Fox Company. Apparently, when G Company came under heavy aerial bombardment from the Luftwaffe in the region, they asked support to help them hold bridge. I heard that the 407th Glider Field Artillery has been moved up from Ste. Come-du-Mont so that they could oversee the flanks bordering the Madeleine Crossing."

"Heh. That's new. I thought that the brass would never move their precious artillery out of place."

"Maybe they got afraid that we might not capture Carentan in time, sir." I replied.

"Whoa. For the first time, you began to think, Turner!" he laughed.

"Well I-"

"Was he the one who nearly flunked the training in Camp Toccoa?" Lieutenant Alderman asked, smiling a bit as he mused over that thought.

"Yeah…the guy who jumped over the barbed wire."

"Sir?" I quivered.

"Just kidding. It was actually the fence. Of course I wouldn't forget that."

They were laughing. I felt that I shrunk with shame. That was one of the most embarrassing moments in my life. Funny. 2 years had past and the guys still remember it. I guess that's because it was my first notion of myself to the Company.

"We'll hold up here for now, await orders from Command if something new comes by."

I guess that was just fair for us. It was a long day. I wanted to sleep.

"Lieutenant, take Jacobs with you and head back to 2nd Platoon. Tell them to reassemble with the rest of Able Company. I'll need their radio to contact HQ about our progress."

* * *

-TO BE CONTINUED- 


	15. Why We Fight

**CHAPTER 14** "Why We Fight"

* * *

June 11, 1944 (D-Day plus 5); Past Bridge #4, outside Carentan, Normandy; France

2120 Hours; Evening

1st Platoon; Able Company, 506th Parachute Regiment

* * *

_06/11/44_

_9th entry_

_502nd isn't looking too good today. The day ended without any element of Airborne units making it into Carentan itself. The nearest presence we have is just about a kilometre away from the town. The 506th was to stay behind and cover the flanks of the advancing party tomorrow, while the 502nd resumes its advance early in the morning. As always, Able Company was put on reserve._

_Another good break for us, though. What left to do for us is to maintain the lines of communications and coordinate attacks with other Companies. We are looking forward for a nice and less busy day in front of us. _

_I heard that once we are done with Carentan, the 101st Airborne Division will be assimilated into the reserved units for the rest of the Normandy Campaign. This means that less combat will be exposed to us. The VII Corps will carry on the advance to France. _

_Man, I'm looking forward to return to England; have my R&R spent by taking plenty of sleep. Hopefully, I wouldn't die before our part in Operation Overlord ends. _

* * *

The distant rumblings of air bombings from afar kept us awake. I was looking forward for some sleep; after today and all. Yet instead, I found myself staring into the night; sitting at my helmet as I watch the distant glows of blasts inflicted by the Air Force at Carentan. Those German bastards surely won't have the pleasure of sleeping tonight.

The Company is having their dinner. Yeah. What a way to eat when just a few kilometres from you the Germans are taking a beating. You could hear the explosions from afar. Yet all of us only minded their meals. Captain Collins had been eating with the rest of the CO's of the Regiment. The rest were just sprinkled everywhere.

I was eating with the others from 1st Platoon; beside the road en route to Carentan. Boxes made up our tables as oil lamps were lit in our little feast.

"Hey Robert! Aren't you going to eat that?" O'Shea asked.

"What? This?" I turned around.

"If you won't, well you can just-"

"Here, take it." I grumbled. "I don't like it anyway…"

"Why, you hate pork and beans Robert?" McCarran said.

"Do I? It's the same damn thing like last night."

"Heh. I don't care if it is the same-damn-thing-like-last-night. Eat up what you have, we got a big day tomorrow. You're going to need your strength."

"What I need is a few glasses of Scotch, Hugh. And some sleep." I sighed.

"Or some chicken curry. I can tell." O'Shea cut in.

The others were eating their dinner. I hate to admit that I'm starving. But to eat that stuff they called food over and over again will drive me nuts. I stood up and grabbed my gear. It has to be there somewhere. I felt it. My ration bag. I brought out a tin can; patented as C Ration. Labelled as 'liver spread' as I further read. With my knife, I pierced open the lid; O'Shea and McCarran staring at what I am doing. I turned to them.

"Do any of you have any slice of bread?"

"You shouldn't open that, Robert." O'Shea said.

"Whoa…Is there a reason why I shouldn't, huh? David?" I frowned. "Come on, do you guys have any?"

"That stuff tastes like hell. Believe me. You'd rather throw it away for the dogs to sink their teeth in."

"You can't stop him, David." McCarran cut in. "Just let him stomach that shit."

"I'd rather have something different than the same thing every time, Hugh." I boasted.

"Here." He brought out a slice of corn bread; wrapped in aluminium foils.

With that, I scooped up. But in that moment on, I got turned off. They were right. I could smell the taste of the liver spread like they were passing into my mouth through my nostrils. It was horrible. It stenches a bit like blood and burnt meat. I wanted to throw it away. But on second thought…I daubed it into the bread. I have nothing left to eat anyway. Again they would laugh at me once I affirm that they are right. I nibbled at it, even though I could taste the disgusting mix of liver and bread in my mouth. I should have listened to David…

I showed no signs of biliousness though. I kept it cool. With a quick drink on my canteen, they were stunned to see that I have managed to eat it up.

"How do you feel?" O'Shea asked, sounding as if he is concerned.

"I'll live…" I murmured.

"Look at him. He's about to puke…" he laughed

"Shut up, David!"

"Yeah, right."

They were already done with their meals. They stood up and grabbed the tomato-stained cups they ate on; bits of food remained at the bottom.

"You coming with us?" McCarran asked.

"Yeah. I need to wash my face."

They made their way inside a house; placed the cups in a running tap of water inside the kitchen. It was odd to see that the place even had water. The Germans cut off most of the water supply in the areas the Airborne had captured when they found out that we were settling there.

Taking a basin, I washed my face with hands scooping up a gush of water. Tiny drops splashed at O'Shea's cheek; who was busy filling up his canteen.

"Hey! Watch it!"

"Sorry, David. The water is too cold for you?"

"Asshole…"

"Come to think of it, we're lucky to have water this cold." McCarran cut in. "Not like in Ste. Come-du-Mont. Smells like I'm in a sewer…"

"Because it's rain water?" I asked.

"Because Sergeant Donnelly pissed on it when Hugh washed his face!"

"Shut up, David."

"Well, if you ask me, I can't wait to go home. There's plenty of water there in my neighbourhood." I said. "Clean and fresh, too."

"Yeah. I can't wait to get back to Brooklyn." O'Shea mused. "I want to be sure that Rose is still single…then I'll make her answer…"

"What makes you so worried?" I asked.

"The girl's a blonde for God's sakes, Robert! You know how bad the other guys want to have one!"

"Well if you like to go home, just whistle." McCarran sighed. "And I'll gladly shoot both of your legs and make it look like an accident. Just like the other wounded fellows who earned a ticket home."

"Sure…"

"Just make sure you keep your acts together. Sooner or later, this war will be over and we can all go home. That's why we fight, anyway." I told them.

"Yeah."

"I guess."

We went silent; contemplating over the fact.

I did make a point. The only reason why we keep up with the other guys on this unit is that we can be sure that we win this war. And with the war over, we also won our rights to go home to our families. Funny. I couldn't see the brash, dreaming and youthful looks of the rest; as I remembered them back in Camp Toccoa.

Yeah. We all dreamed of making our country proud. But then, when we were herded finally into this war, what we all dreamed instead is just to make it back home alive and also to ensure that the other guy beside you would too. I finally realized what Gretchen pointed to me.

She was right. I shouldn't be wasting my life for this. Soon I'll be back. Then she will realize that I am different from the others. That I did something right for once in my life.

I tried to live for her and for my family. But it would be all in vain if I go home in a box. I'll stay alive.

That is why I fight.

"Come on guys. We still have a big day tomorrow…"

I went back to my things outside. It was time to sleep. Carentan was just at our horizon. Tomorrow will be the final push. A bit like a do-or-die thing. I know that the 502nd will lead the charge. But soon, I expected, we will be joining them. And when it all starts, it's going to be ugly.

With that, I picked up my rosary; the one thing I never thought I would bring out or even mention. This is for me; I pray I would not make it back to Gretchen as a corpse.

The night draws to a close. Staring at the stars above, I lulled myself to sleep; thinking what tomorrow would have in store for us…

* * *

-TO BE CONTINUED- 


	16. A Searing One

**CHAPTER 15 **"A Searing One"

* * *

"_We happy few / We band of brothers; For whoever who sheds his blood with me / Shall be my brother;"_

_-William Shakespeare/King Henry the V_

* * *

June 12, 1944 (D-Day plus 6); Carentan, Normandy France

1550 Hours

Able Company, 506th Parachute Regiment; en route to the Carentan-Baupte road

* * *

Last night was hell. I only had the liberty of sleep for 3 hours. Then McCarran woke me up; 1st and 2nd Platoon was ordered by Captain Collins to move out and accompany the rest of the 506th to assemble with the 101st Division at Carentan; the 502nd Regiment managed to break through the German defences at the north during the night.

And when we arrived there, pocket gunfights were everywhere. The brass instructed us to stay behind and cover the flanks of the town. It was a fierce battle during the night. Though, I haven't fired a shot at that time. At 7:30, the krauts had had it and turned their tails.

Now, it is afternoon. Yet, we received word from Command just now that the 506th would begin to move out and secure the southwestern approaches to Carentan. Apparently the Germans had been mobilizing for a counter-attack. The order was also given to the 501st; they would move from Hill 30 towards the axis of approach at the Carentan-Periers highway. Our Company was originally put on reserve, as expected. But the brass insisted that every available platoon be sent out for the mission.

Perfect…

Right now we are approaching on a raised open field; towards the road we were tasked to take. In our horizon there is collection of trees; fences just behind them border the Baupte road. Hopefully, nobody's here save for us. The grasses are almost at our waist's height; giving us some sort of cover. We moved out slowly; 1st Platoon taking the lead, a couple of guys taking point.

"Do you guys smell that?"

"What?" I asked out.

"Smells like shit…"

"Don't start David. I just had my lunch."

"No. I'm serious Robert. Something really smells out here."

"Hey! Pipe down back there." Captain Collins ordered.

We were treading for a few minutes now as I could remember. We were scanning the area for any sign of movement; friend or foe. However, I felt something amiss. Looking around, I could see that we were spread out; a few feet away from each other. It granted us a bit of mobility; but we made a much larger profile for the enemy to see. The entire 1st Platoon of Able Company is sprinkled.

I think that the Captain made that so because we all assumed that the Germans aren't on the move as we speak. Pretty much like what happened last night; the remnants of the defenders at Carentan fled south. But God knows how many fresh troops have joined them to reorganize. There are a lot of reinforcements mobilizing near St. Lo as I have heard. If they were bringing in plenty of tank support, the Germans could attack now; whilst heading on our direction. And sooner, rather than later.

But what if later is now?

BANG!

A shot from out of nowhere.

The man in front of us was immediately killed.

"Sniper!"

"Get down! Everyone, get your heads down!"

I hit the dirt without delay. O'Shea was behind me; he found it proper to do the same. I let the others do the searching for the shooter. I will not move out of my spot; not even the Captain can make me.

"There! Over there! At the trees!" One shouted out.

"The goddamn stragglers! Let them have it! Open fire!" Captain Collins barked.

At once, everyone let loose with their weapons. I crouched up and took aim as well. There were no signs of Germans running about the trees from afar. But I didn't hesitate. I fired 4 rounds; placing them on where I thought I saw movement. The enemy fired back. They had automatic weapons; frighteningly similar from a particular encounter before…

But of course. Carentan was defended by the 6th Fallschirmjager Regiment. I realized that our attackers were German paratroopers, similar to the ones we encountered at Foucarville. I could hear the familiar pang of shots coming from their special FG-42s.

Jesus…here we go again.

"Jacobs! Get to your radio, call to the 29th and say that we have contact!"

"Right, Captain."

The guy was just beside me; as he crouched he dropped down his carbine and began to tune up the radio. I fired 3 more rounds at the trees; not caring about whether the sniper's shot came from there or not.

Then I saw a flash. It was a gunshot.

BANG!

The sound came late by half a second.

Suddenly, blood splattered in my left cheek. I gasped. I turned around. Jacobs was hit in the head; falling down dead with his hand still holding the receiver of the radio.

"Shit! Captain! Jacobs is hit! Jacobs is hit!"

He turned around; dreaded when he saw that his radioman has been killed.

BANG!

A third shot.

The bullet went past inches from another man's face; slicing the grasses as it hit the ground. It was hard to hear. The intensity of our firing shrouded the sounds of every footstep and bullets zooming at us.

"Where the hell is Rosenbaum?" the Captain called out

He had the other radio.

"Turner! Find Dieter and tell him to contact HQ! We have enemy contact and we need support!"

"Yes sir!"

I tapped O'Shea; who was busy reloading another clip on his rifle.

"David! You with me! We got to find Dieter!"

I ran back deeper into our lines. 2nd Platoon was just behind us. Rosenbaum has to be there.

Our advance was delayed. We needed to get to that radio and inform Command or anybody else that we have encountered the enemy. We needed support; surely those Germans shooting at us right now were just the tip of the iceberg. Part of a much larger force.

Sprinting ahead and past several paratroopers, befuddled at what is going on up front; I managed to find him perplexed like the others.

"What the hell is going on?" He asked out, his German accent confirmed that it was him.

"We got contact right straight at us! Get to your radio and call HQ that we have encountered the enemy!"

"Do we…do we need support?"

"Of course, we do! Get moving!" O'Shea replied.

"Right!"

"INCOMING!" one shouted out. His voice was followed by a blast.

It wasn't a sound from their artillery, however. It was even more familiar…

"TIGER TANK!"

"TIGER TANK UP FRONT!" another yelled.

It was chaos. Everyone was running around; trying to minimize the chance of being hit by the tank. But that made us easy prey for their shooters. All of us were scattered. It was heart-racing; I was about to lose my senses. Gun fire was just everywhere. Some of us were dropping down dead, one at a time.

"We need a bazooka to get that tank!" Captain Collins shouted. "Where are Erickson and Barnes?"

"Erickson's dead sir. Barnes is wounded."

It was McCarran's voice. I mapped him out amidst the panicking scene in front of me. He was holding on at his surgeon pack; two men were lying in their backs. Beside one of them, is the rocket launcher.

I ran towards the Captain. Bullets were searing the grass; you could hear them ricochet past your face and then hit the ground. Or hit someone else. A guy just got knocked down as I sprinted past him. He fell down, grimacing in pain as a bullet wound protruded at his waist.

"Damn! Weber's hit!" McCarran ran to him. "Turner! O'Shea! Cover me!"

"Got it!"

I fired my rifle; which had only one bullet left.

Ping! The empty clip got ejected near my face. I was staggered when it caught in the way of my line of sight. I blinked. I needed to reload. I got another set of rounds from my bandoleer. I put in. Cocked my rifle. Again I opened fire. Risking getting hit by the enemy, McCarran made a dash to the wounded man. He carried him by his shoulder; he crouched and went back to the others; amidst the smoke of gunpowder already billowing at our position.

I kept shooting at the enemy; even though they were unseen thanks to the trees that cover them. 2 rounds left in my rifle. I ran back to the Captain; now Hugh was done getting out the wounded paratrooper out from harm's way. I knew in an instant that he will need me. Or us; since O'Shea was just behind me.

"Turner! O'Shea! Get that bazooka and waste that tank! The rest of you! Give them covering fire!"

"Yes sir!"

"Got it!"

I huddled back to McCarran; the two men that he had been treating had the rocket launcher that we were looking for. Blood and bullet casings stain the green grass fields. The others drew enemy fire away from us; I saw a couple of guys run and hit the dirt as they quickly man a 30 cal.

"Don't mind if I borrow this pal?" I joked.

"Just get the damn bazooka, Turner!"

I picked it up. It was quite heavy. Yet, I was familiar with it. It was just as heavy as the Panzerfausts that I had to carry in my back when we were defending Beuzeville-au-Plain days ago. O'Shea grabbed and strapped on the rocket holders unto himself.

With that, we ran off; keeping ourselves as low as possible as we made our way towards the direction of the enemy tank.

We saw it. In the trees. A long muzzle gave me that implication. The cannon was turning to the left; prepping up for another shot.

"Shit! It's gonna fire again!" I cursed.

"Come on! Bring it up to your shoulder so I can load the rocket!" O'Shea ordered.

I did what he said. I took aim at the tank; crouching as we do. Hopefully, the tall grass wouldn't let us be seen by the enemy. I didn't look away. The tank was already at my sights. I was trembling. My heart was pacing fast. O'Shea began to load the rocket from behind me.

He then armed it.

"It's hot! Clear!" his hand tapped my head.

I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. I squeezed the trigger as hard as I can. The rocket ignited its motors as it hurriedly streamed forward towards the tank; the force I felt as I felt the recoil. It left a contrail; white enough to make itself known amidst the smoke coming out from numerous rifle barrels.

BOOM!

The trees were rocked as the tank exploded instantly. A fireball set it ablaze. The enemy deduced their firing; knowing that their best weapon against us has been destroyed. Some came running out from their covers and we picked off. But amidst the smoke fluttering at them; some remained and continued to open fire. Only this time, they moved further up front at their position; avoiding the smouldering mass of twisted metal beside them.

It was stupid for them. All of us were able to map them out.

"Over there! Aim at there!" O'Shea pointed at me.

The enemy was in a strong position. A position that we needed to breach. Again I crouched and took aim. He then loaded up another rocket from behind. Arming it, he tapped at my head again.

"Good to go! Clear!"

Again I pulled the trigger. The rocket zoomed forward at a second's notice; white smoke was trailing behind it. It had reached the trees in an instant.

BOOM!

Branches, leaves and a few bodies got blown away. The cluster of trees was finally caught on fire; thanks to the destroyed Tiger Tank's fuel igniting. The Germans had had it. Soon, their firing finally ceased as they turned tail and ran. They come out from their corners and disappeared from our line of sight.

"They're retreating! They're retreating!"

"Yeah! Look at those bastards run!" We cheered.

Some of the krauts had even the knack to fire a few rounds at us. Enough to convince us that we should keep firing at them.

"Don't let down guys! Let 'em have it!" Captain Collins ordered.

We obliged; already with a half-smile strewn at our faces. The others were letting lose a few rounds; taking down a few of the runaways. We didn't stop; it was our turn to make them pay now.

"We did it!"

"Yeah! Thanks to us!" O'Shea cheered.

"Good job! Look at them turn their-"

thud

gasp

Something…

I felt something flicker at my chest.

I found myself clamping my hands at neck. My eyes were wide. Then I was falling down slowly.

I turned to O'Shea. His jaw dropping wide as he stared at me.

_Ahhh…._

That was all I can breathe out.

I suddenly felt pain. A searing one. Right then, I realized I was shot. My vision was getting blurry.

Then I heard it.

"Turner's hit!"

"Jesus Christ!"

"Turner!"

"Turner!"

Their voices died down as I landed flat on my back. Everything went dark…

"McCarran! Get over here, quick! Medic! Medic!"

Right at that moment, I felt my breathing stopped…

* * *

-TO BE CONTINUED- 


	17. The Ticket Home

**CHAPTER 16 **"The Ticket Home"

* * *

Weeks later…

* * *

My world was a blur. Cutting the crap of it all; I realized that I was back in England. How I got here was pretty simple enough to explain. But when; I don't know. I was in a hospital, I assumed. The bright pallid walls were further illuminated by the setting sun; I realized that it was dusk. Soon, everything slid into focus.

I rose up; try to get a clearer view of everything. I was lying flat on my back. I turned to my arm. My Rolex was still there. Covering me was a white blanket. Army doctors and nurses are walking around, holding trays and such. Chatters were kept at a low voice. Some where sneezing. Some were coughing. And I was in an infirmary bed.

So I was right…

I am in a hospital.

The bandages around strewn across my chest and my neck gave me a further confirmation.

"…being wounded in the line of duty while facing an opposing armed force and for being steadfast in participating in the decisive operations around Normandy Campaign, June of 1944. You, Private Howard Dewey of 3rd Battalion, 506th Parachute Regiment, 101st is hereby awarded the Purple Heart."

Sounds like…

I turned at my left. 5 beds across me was a colonel, accompanied by an officer, shaking hands with a man lying in bed. Wounded like myself. He was smiling. He was handed a small box.

"Congratulations, son. You deserve it."

"Thank you…sir." He smiled back weekly.

I frowned. I must have been away for a few weeks. Missing all the happenings around me for a long time. Around me were wounded servicemen. Infantry, Air Force or Airborne. But I turned to one side. Damn. I wanted to spit on what is going on.

Facing the facts; I was indeed wounded. I was sent back. I don't when but why was pretty straightforward.

It was weird though.

I don't recall how the hell I ended up in here. How did I get shot?

Footsteps…

"Good to see you up, Turner."

That voice…

Familiar. I turned around. And I was surprised to see him.

"Captain…Collins…?" I quivered.

I rose up. He was clad in the casual officer's uniform; his cap tucked under his arm. I smiled a bit. It was the second time I saw him without anything on his head. The last time I saw his hair was when I got into the briefing room with the rest of the Company; when D-Day was filled in to us personally by him.

"How're you feeling?" He asked.

"Well…fine…I guess."

"That ain't good to hear, Private. Quite unsure of yourself again, eh?" He smiled.

"When did I…get here sir?"

"June 15. We sent you to the meds at the beaches. They insisted that you be shipped back here in England to be treated. You were in a pretty bad shape."

"How long…was I out?" I asked him.

"5 weeks."

I was out for 5 weeks!

"The nurse says that you came in and out of consciousness at that time. Because of the wounds you had. Must have been one hell of a bullet you took back in Carentan."

I lay back to the pillow. Now I remembered. When I fired that second rocket…something just hit me after that. I recalled their voices, calling me. Captain Collins was the one who called for help, as I recollected. Then it all went black…

"Anyways. I only came here to see if you're fine now. Glad to know that you are."

"How about the others?"

"They're still back there in France. But soon they'll be sent back here in England for their R&R."

"I see…"

"We won Carentan when you were out. Able Company took the charge of holding out those Germans from retaking the town just a day after you got wounded. Much of the 506th was put on hold by then; ever since we all got transferred from the VII Corps and all…" The Captain elaborated.

So, I did miss a lot of action back at the front. I felt ashamed. I didn't deserve this. O'Shea and McCarran were left out there. As well as Rosenbaum. Damn. God knows what's going to happen to them without me. I hated it. I wanted to plead to the Captain to send me back…

But that wouldn't do any good.

What good left can I do?

"I came here to give you this, Turner." He spoke.

I turned around.

It was a small box.

"Hope you wouldn't mind if I refuse myself into reciting the proper congratulations to you."

I opened it.

My eyes gleamed with awe as I saw; a Purple Heart.

"My God…"

"You took out a tank. You got our asses saved, because of that. You saved a lot of paratroopers, Turner. I guess you deserve this."

I was speechless.

"That's your ticket home."

"Sir? But why?"

"Doctor's said that you need a year of rehab. You got hit by twice; in case you don't remember it much. You were lucky that what injured you were just pistol rounds from an SMG."

So I was hit twice. The Germans were falling back; yet some of them were still shooting at us. Their shots crossed to me.

I felt down. All these years of training and ambition. They all just ended up in 6 days. Then just like that; the Captain told me that I was going home…

"You are lucky, Turner. Believe me. A lot of guys back there in Normandy dream of having the chance you have right now."

"But I think I don't deserve this, sir." I replied.

"You do."

"…"

"You were to do your job. Instead, you did a lot more than that."

"But why me? The others also fought as hard as I did."

"Well, the world is not nice. You just got lucky."

"…"

Funny. That what O'Shea used to say. There are no good guys. It's all about fate and luck.

"Listen. Smile and be proud. You're a hero now."

"I don't feel like one, sir."

"That's your problem, Turner. Well. I guess I should be going."

He then left. It was odd. I don't feel like a hero. I don't think I deserve to go home. No. My friends need me. I can't abandon them. After all they did for me? After all we've all been through even if it just spanned 6 days. I couldn't understand. But everything's done.

I just realized that it was over.

The war was over for me.

"Sir!" I called out.

He turned around.

"Could you give this back, to Lieutenant Speyer?"

It was his pencil. The one I forgot to return to him. Captain Collins went back to me; seemed dumbfounded that I still have it.

"I guess it was long overdue." I smirked.

"Don't worry. It'll get to him."

I handed it to him.

"Sir. Take care of my buddies, would you? I don't want them to end up worse than me."

"Yeah."

"And it was a pleasure being at your command, sir." I saluted.

"Cut the crap, Turner. Go back to rest." He laughed.

It was already night. Captain Collins then left. I don't know where the hell he is going. Some official stuff I think. I sighed into sleep. I was about to go home soon.

Do I deserve it?

After all I did and didn't do?

I don't know. But life is weird. You get rewards; even if they don't fit you. I know I didn't deserve to go home.

But I smiled. I did keep my promise. I'll be going home to Kansas; to Mom, to Dad, to Gretchen. I think to have the chance to see them again was the one think I am worthy of.

Finally; something right for once in my life…

I dreamt of the party; of myself returning home.

They looked happy. Especially Gretchen.

"I told you, I am different." I hugged her.

I made it back…

* * *

-END- 


	18. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

* * *

"_Every man's life ends the same way. It's only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another…"_

_-Ernst Hemingway-_

* * *

And that's my story. Pretty confusing huh? I guess I'm no good writer at all. They said that age begets wisdom. Well, I'll say I didn't have one. Even now that I'm old…

Come to think of it. The war wasn't over for us. After the Third Reich fell and the Japs got nuked, soon there came the goddamn "Cold War". When will the bastards stop? There came Korea, then Vietnam…

But hey, as O'Shea said, the world is not nice. These things keep happening over and over again no matter how hard we try to stop them. And that's your problem now. My time. Our time is long over. Hope you people won't do what we did.

The same mistakes happen again and again. The world may not be a nice place. But it's up to you to see if you can make a difference.

Because that's what all you can hope to do.

As for us. Well. Look at us not as the heroes we wanted to be. Just as the citizens of this country. The brave ones. For those who are brave never die. The courage lives on. And with that, we live on.

* * *

Able Company; 506th Parachute Regiment, 101st Airborne Division continued to fight in Carentan between June 13-15, 1944; a day after Private Turner was wounded. The Germans did make a counter-offensive at the 13th; originating at the south, but was repulsed the following day. Later that night, the responsibility of securing the junction at Carentan was passed unto the 502nd and the rest of the 506th Regiment was put on reserve. Later in the month; Able Company was withdrawn from the frontlines and was sent back to England to fill in replacements for the comrades they lost.

Approximately 50 men of Able Company had died during the Normandy Campaign.

After that time, the Company would be seen fighting in Holland and then in the Ardennes in Belgium later in September and December (respectively); during at which had proved to be the toughest times at the Company's history…

* * *

Captain Richard Dale Collins; commanding officer of A/506th, of Charlotte; North Carolina, received the Distinguished Service Medal for his actions during the Ardennes Offensive in the winter of 1944. After the war; he remained in the army to continue to fight in the battlefields of Korea (1950-1953) and in Vietnam (1959-1975), the latter where he received the Purple Heart after being wounded in the Mekong Delta.

He retired in 1976 as a Lieutenant Colonel. He then became an assistant football coach for the Oakland Raiders during the 1980s. He died in 1999.

* * *

Private Hugh Hanley McCarran; Medic of 1st Platoon of A/506th, of Statenville; Georgia, continued to fight for Able Company until the end of the war. He moved to Columbia; South Carolina where he pursued his career in medical school. He became a cardiologist in 1954. In 1970; he migrated to Berlin; in Germany in search of greener pastures. He returned to the US in 1985. He still lives today.

* * *

Private David O'Shea; Rifleman of 1st Platoon of A/506th, of Brooklyn; New York, was crippled in the Ardennes Offensive at Christmas Eve; December 24, 1944 after being hit by mortar fire. He recuperated in Southampton in England, but was transferred to the medical bases in Oahu, Hawaii. After the war, he got discharged from the Armed Forces and returned to New York. He did marry his girlfriend Rose and they had 2 children. David became a 7th Grade teacher in 1956. He died in 2002.

* * *

Sergeant Travis Donnelly; commanding officer of 1st Platoon of A/506th, of Nashville; Tennessee, rejoined Able Company after recovering in a friendly fire incident during the offensive at Ste. Come-du-Mont. He was killed in action in Holland, during Operation: Market Garden in September 1944.

* * *

Private First Class Dieter Ernst Rosenbaum; Radioman of 2nd Platoon of A/506th, of Weymouth; Boston, Massachusetts, continued to fight for Able Company until the end of the war. He received the Bronze Star for his actions during the Ardennes Offensive in December 1944 for single-handedly provided covering fire for a group of retreating paratroopers when part of their positions have fallen in Bastogne, Belgium. He was the only German of the 506th to receive such an award.

After the war, he settled in Boston where he became a historian for Harvard College in 1950. He returned to his homeland in Munich, Germany to reunite with his loved ones whom his family had left behind. He got married and had 3 children. He became a journalist and later a critic of West German Chancellor Konrad Adenauer in 1955. He died in Munich in 1994.

* * *

Lieutenant Francis Speyer; lieutenant of 1st Platoon of D/506th, of Brunswick; North Carolina saw action in Operation: Market Garden in September 1944. Was promoted to Captain to fill in the absence of his unit's commanding officer after being wounded. He was killed in action during the Ardennes Offensive in December 1944.

* * *

Lieutenant Vincent Martin Alderman; lieutenant of 1st Platoon of A/506th, of Lake City; Michigan continued to fight for Able Company until the end of the war. He remained in the army and saw action in Korea; where he received the Purple Heart after being wounded in the US counter-offensive in Seoul. He pursued Law in the University of Michigan and became a district attorney in 1960. He married and had 5 children, 1 of which died during infancy. Moved to Madison, Wisconsin in 1978. He died in 1997.

* * *

Chris and George; both from Ellsworth, Kansas; friends of Robert; were killed during the course of the war. Chris Hartsfield fought with the 2nd Marine Division and was killed during the invasion of Guadalcanal. George Langley joined the 1st Infantry Division and was killed during the battle of Sicily, Italy.

* * *

Arthur Doe; "Mr. Doe", after being arrested in Kansas; served 50 years in prison after proven to have been evading authorities in Chicago during 1930's. He died in 1970, without even completing his sentence.

* * *

Private Robert Lee Turner; Rifleman of 1st Platoon of A/506th, of Ellsworth; Kansas returned to his hometown in 1945 after recovering from his injuries. He married Gretchen in 1947 and had 3 children; 2 of them would fight in Vietnam; one would die in the Battle of La Drang and the other earned the Bronze Star for his actions in Hue.

He became an employee in the car factory in Kansas where his father Matthew used to work. After hard work; he earned the management's trust and became a supervisor then later as a manager of the entire plant in 1958. He moved to Michigan, with his family, to take over the management of the Ford main plant in River Rouge in 1975. Since then he became a marketing consultant of the company; even today. He still lives in Michigan with his wife.

* * *

This fanfic is dedicated to my grandfather who fought in Philippines; in Bataan. May he rest in peace. (1918-2000)

* * *

"_Those who have enjoyed such privileges…as we begin to enjoy…we forget in time that men had died to win them…"_

_President Franklin D. Roosevelt_


End file.
